I 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


IN  MEMORY  OF 


^'   V.r.   &  Mrs,  Sydney  B.  Mitchell 


fxcr^^J^v..-^  v.  ^V>.cka 'dA  . 


Ft! 


Departmental 
Ditties     Ballads 
AND  Barrack  Room 
Ballads 


By  Rudyard  Kipling 


Author  of  "The  Day's  Work," 
"The  Seven  Seas," 
"The  Jungle  Books,"  etc. 


TORONTO 
GEORGE  N.  MORANG  &  COMPANY,  Limited 

New  York 

DOUBLEDAY  &  McCLURE  CO. 

1899 


GIF! 


Oy 


CONTENTS 


DEPARTMENTAL  DITTIES 

PAGE 

General  Summary ii 

Army  Headquarters 13 

Study  of  an  Elevation,  in  Indian  Ink         ....  16 

Delilah 18 

A  Legend  of  the  Foreign  Office 22 

The  Story  of  Uriah 25 

The  Post  that  fitted 27 

A  Code  of  Morals 30 

Public  Waste 34 

What  happened 37 

The  Man  who  could  write          ......  40 

Pink  Dominoes          ........  43 

Municipal 46 

The  Last  Department        . 49 

OTHER  VERSES 

My  Rival 53 

To  the  Unknown  Goddess 56 

The  Rupaiyat  of  Omar  Kal'vin 58 

Pagett,  M.  P 61 

La  Nuit  Blanche        ........  64 

The  Lovers'  Litany 68 

6 


971 


6  CONTENTS 

PAGB 

A  Ballad  of  Burial 70 

The  Overland  Mail 73 

Divided  Destinies 75 

The  Masque  of  Plenty 78 

The  Mare's  Nest 84 

The  Ballad  of  Fisher's  Boarding-house      ....  87 

Possibilities 92 

Arithmetic  on  the  Frontier         ......  94 

The  Song  of  the  Women 96 

The  Betrothed 99 

A  Ballade  of  Jakko  Hill 104 

The  Plea  of  the  Simla  Dancers 106 

"  As  the  Bell  clinks  " 109 

Christmas  in  India     .         . 1 13 

The  Grave  of  the  Hundred  Head 116 

An  Old  Song 121 

Certain  Maxims  of  Hafiz 125 

The  Moon  of  Other  Days 131 

The  Fall  of  Jock  Gillespie 133 

What  the  People  said 136 

The  Undertaker's  Horse 139 

One  Viceroy  resigns 142 

The  Galley-slave 151 

A  Tale  of  Two  Cities 156 

In  Spring  Time 160 

Giffen's  Debt 162 

Two  Months.     In  June .165 

Two  Months.     In  September 166 

L'Envoi 167 


PRELUDE 

/  have  eaten  your  bread  and  salt, 
I  have  drunk  your  water  and  wine; 

TJie  deaths  ye  died  I  have  watched  beside^ 
And  the  lives  that  ye  led  were  mine. 

Was  there  aught  that  I  did  not  share 

In  vigil  or  toil  or  ease,  — 
One  joy  or  woe  that  I  did  ?iot  know, 

Dear  hearts  across  the  seas? 

I  have  written  the  tale  of  our  life 

For  a  sheltered  people  V  tnirth, 
In  jesting  guise  — but  ye  are  wise, 
*    And  ye  know  what  the  jest  is  worth. 


DEPARTMENTAL   DITTIES 


GENERAL   SUMMARY 

We  are  very  slightly  changed 
From  the  semi-apes  who  ranged 

India's  prehistoric  clay ; 
Whoso  drew  the  longest  bow 
Ran  his  brother  down,  you  know, 

As  we  run  men  down  to-day. 

"Dowb,"  the  first  of  all  his  race, 
Met  the  Mammoth  face  to  face 

On  the  lake  or  in  the  cave, 
Stole  the  steadiest  canoe, 
Ate  the  quarry  others  slew, 

Died  —  and  took  the  finest  grave. 

When  they  scratched  the  reindeer-bone, 
Some  one  made  the  sketch  his  own, 

Filched  it  from  the  artist  —  then, 
Even  in  those  early  days. 
Won  a  simple  Viceroy's  praise 

Through  the  toil  of  other  men. 
11 


12  GENERAL   SUMMARY 

Ere  they  hewed  the  Sphinx's  visage 
Favouritism  governed  kissage, 
Even  as  it  does  in  this  age. 

Who  shall  doubt  the  secret  hid 
Under  Cheops'  pyramid 
Was  that  the  contractor  did 

Cheops  out  of  several  millions? 
Or  that  Joseph's  sudden  rise 
To  Comptroller  of  Supplies 
Was  a  fraud  of  monstrous  size 

On  King  Pharaoh's  swart  Civilian? 

Thus,  the  artless  songs  I  sing 
Do  not  deal  with  anything 

New  or  never  said  before. 
As  it  was  in  the  beginning 
Is  to-day  official  sinning, 

And  shall  be  for  evermore. 


ARMY   HEAD-QUARTERS 

Old  is  the  song  that  I  sing — 

Old  as  my  unpaid  bills  — 
Old  as  the  chicken  that  kitmiitgars  bring 

Men  at  dak-bungalows  —  old  as  the  Hills. 

Ahasuerus  Jenkins  of  the  "  Operatic  Own," 
Was  dowered  with  a  tenor  voice  of  j-zz/^r-Santley  tone. 
His  views  on  equitation  were,  perhaps,  a  trifle  queer ; 
He  had  no  seat  worth  mentioning,  but  oh  !  he  had  an 
ear. 

He  clubbed  his  wretched  company  a  dozen  times  a 

day, 
He  used  to  leave  his  charger  in  a  parabolic  way. 
His  method  of  saluting  was  the  joy  of  all  beholders. 
But  Ahasuerus  Jenkins  had  a  head  upon  his  shoulders. 

He  took  two  months  at  Simla  when  the  year  was  at 

the  spring. 
And  underneath  the  deodars  eternally  did  sing. 

13 


14  ARMY    HEAD-QUARTERS 

He  warbled  like  a  bul-bul,  but  particularly  at 
Cornelia  Agrippina,  who  was  musical  and  fat. 


She  controlled  a  humble  husband,  who,  in  turn,  con- 
trolled a  Dept., 

Where  Cornelia  Agrippina's  human  singing-birds  were 
kept 

From  April  to  October  on  a  plump  retaining  fee, 

Supplied,  of  course,  per  mensem^  by  the  Indian  Treas- 
ury. 

Cornelia  used  to  sing  to  him,  and  Jenkins  used  to 

play; 
He  praised  unblushingly  her  notes,  for  he  was  false  as 

they; 
So  when  the  winds  of  April  turned  the  budding  roses 

brown, 
Cornelia  told  her  husband: — Tom,  you  mustn't  send 

him  down. 

They  haled  him  from  his  regiment,  which  didn't  much 

regret  him ; 
They  found  for  him  an  office-stool,  and  on  that  stool 

they  set  him. 


ARMY   HEAD-QUARTERS  15 

To  play  with  maps  and  catalogues  three  idle  hours  a 

day, 
And  draw  his  plump  retaining  fee  —  which  means  his 

double  pay. 

Now,   ever   after   dinner,  when   the   coffee-cups   are 

brought, 
Ahasuerus  waileth  o'er  the  grand  pianoforte ; 
And,   thanks   to   fair  Cornelia,  his  fame  hath  waxen 

great. 
And  Ahasuerus  Jenkins  is  a  power  in  the  State  ! 


STUDY  OF  AN  ELEVATION,  IN  INDIAN  INK 

This  ditty  is  a  strijig  of  lies. 

But —  how  the  deuce  did  Gubbins  rise  ? 

PoTiPHAR  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Stands  at  the  top  of  the  tree  ; 
And  I  muse  in  my  bed  on  the  reasons  that  led 
To  the  hoisting  of  Potiphar  G. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  seven  years  junior  to  Me  ; 
Each  bridge  that  he  makes  either  buckles  or  breaks, 
And  his  work  is  as  rough  as  he. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  coarse  as  a  chimpanzee  ; 
And  I  can't  understand  why  you  gave  him  your  hand, 
Lovely  Mehitabel  Lee. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  dear  to  the  Powers  that  Be ; 
16 


STUDY  OF  AN  ELEVATION,  IN  INDIAN  INK     17 

For  They  Iww  and  They  smile  in  an  affable  style, 
Which  is  seldom  accorded  to  Me. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  certain  as  certain  can  be 
Of  a  highly  paid  post  which  is  claimed  by  a  host 
Of  seniors  —  including  Me. 

Careless  and  lazy  is  he, 
Greatly  inferior  to  Me. 
What  is  the  spell  that  you  manage  so  well, 
Commonplace  Potiphar  G.  ? 

Lovely  Mehitabel  Lee, 
Let  me  inquire  of  thee, 
Should  I  have  riz  to  where  Potiphar  is 

Hadst  thou  been  mated  to  Me  ? 


DELILAH 

We  have  another  Viceroy  now,  those  days  are  dead 

a7id  done 
Of  Delilah  Aberyswith  and  depraved  Ulysses  Gunne. 

Delilah  Aberyswith  was  a  lady  —  not  too  young  — 
With  a  perfect  taste  in  dresses  and  a  badly  bitted 

tongue, 
With  a  thirst  for  information,  and  a  greater  thirst  for 

praise, 
And  a  little  house  in  Simla  in  the  Prehistoric  Days. 

By  reason  of  her  marriage  to  a  gentleman  in  power, 
Delilah  was  acquainted  with  the  gossip  of  the  hour ; 
And  many  little  secrets,  of  a  half-official  kind. 
Were  whispered  to  Delilah,  and  she  bore  them  all  in 
mind. 

She  patronized  extensively  a  man,  Ulysses  Gunne, 
Whose  mode  of  earning  money  was  a  low  and  shame- 
ful one. 

18 


DELILAH  19 

He    wrote   for   divers    papers,  which,   as    everybody 

knows, 
Is  worse   than  serving  in  a  shop  or  scaring  off  the 

crows. 

He  praised  her  queenly  beauty  first ;  and,  later  on,  he 
hinted 

At  the  vastness  of  her  intellect  with  compHment  un- 
stinted ; 

He  went  with  her  a-riding,  and  his  love  for  her  was 
such 

That  he  lent  her  all  his  horses  and  —  she  galled  them 
very  much. 

One  day  They  brewed  a  secret  of  a  fine  financial 

sort; 
It  related  to  Appointments,  to  a  Man  and  a  Report. 
'Twas  almost  worth  the  keeping  [only  seven  people 

knew  it], 
So   Gunne  rose  up  to  seek  the  truth   and  patiently 

ensue  it. 

It  was  a  Viceroy's  Secret,  but  —  perhaps  the  wine  was 

red  — 
Perhaps  an  Aged  Councillor  had  lost  his  aged  head  — 


20  DELILAH 

Perhaps  Delilah's  eyes  were  bright  —  Delilah's  whis- 
pers sweet  — 

The  Aged  Member  told  her  what  'twere  treason  to 
repeat. 

Ulysses  went  a-riding,  and  they  talked  of  love  and 

flowers ; 
Ulysses  went  a-calling,  and  he  called  for  several  hours  ; 
Ulysses  went   a-vv'altzing,   and    Delilah    helped    him 

dance  — 
Ulysses  let  the  waltzes  go,  and  waited  for  his  chance. 

The  summer  sun  was  setting,  and  the  summer  air  was 

still, 
The  couple  went  a-walking  in  the  shade  of  Summer 

Hill, 
The  wasteful   sunset  faded  out  in   turkis-green   and 

gold, 
Ulysses   pleaded   softly,   and  .  .  .  that    bad    Delilah 

told! 

Next  morn,  a  startled  Empire  learnt  the  all- important 

News ; 
Next  week,  the  Aged  Councillor  was  shaking  in  his 

shoes ; 


DELILAH  21 

Next  month,  I  met  Delilah,  and  she  did  not  show  the 

least 
Hesitation  in  asserting  that  Ulysses  was  a  ''  beast." 

We  have  another  Viceroy  now,  those  days  are  dead 

and  done  — 
Of  Delilah  Aberyswith  and  most  mean  Ulysses  Gunne  ! 


A   LEGEND   OF  THE   FOREIGN   OFFICE 

This  is  the  reason  why  Rustum  Beg, 

Rajah  of  Kolazai, 
Drinketh  the  ^' sif?ipki?i^^  and  brandy  peg, 

Maketh  the  7noney  to  fly, 
Vexeth  a  Gove?'nment,  tender  and  kitid, 
Also  —  but  this  is  a  detail —  blind. 

Rustum  Beg  of  Kolazai  —  slightly  backward   Native 

State  — 
Lusted  for  a  C.  S.  I.  —  so  began  to  sanitate. 
Built   a    Gaol    and    Hospital  —  nearly   built    a   City 

drain  — 
Till  his  faithful  subjects  all  thought  their  ruler  was 

insane. 

Strange  departures  made  he  then  —  yea,  Departments 

stranger  still, 
Half  a  dozen  Englishmen  helped  the  Rajah  with  a  will, 
Talked  of  noble  aims  and  high,  hinted  of  a  fliture  fine 
For  the  State  of  Kolazai,  on  a  strictly  Western  line. 

22 


A   LEGEND   OF   THE   FOREIGN   OFFICE     23 

Rajah  Rustum  held   his  peace ;   lowered  octroi  dues 

one  half; 
Organized  a  State  PoHce  ;  purified  the  Civil  Staff; 
Settled  cess  and  tax  afresh  in  a  very  liberal  way ; 
Cut  temptations  of  the  flesh  —  also  cut  the  Bukhshi's 

pay; 

Roused  his  Secretariat  to  a  fine  Mahratta  fury, 
By  a  Hookum  hinting  at  supervision  of  dasturi; 
Turned  the  state  of  Kolazai  very  nearly  upside-down ; 
When  the  end  of  May  was  nigh  waited  his  achieve- 
ment crown. 

Then  the  Birthday  honours  came.     Sad  to  state  and 

sad  to  see, 
Stood  against  the  Rajah's  name  nothing  more  than 

C.  I.  E.  I 

Things  were  lively  for  a  week  in  the  State  of  Kolazai, 
Even  now  the  people  speak  of  that  time  regretfully ; 

How  he  disendowed  the  Gaol  —  stopped  at  once  the 

City  drain ; 
Turned  to  beauty  fair  and  frail  —  got  his  senses  back 

again; 


24     A   LEGEND   OF   THE   FOREIGN    OFFICE 

Doubled  taxes,  cesses  all ;  cleared  away  each  new-built 

thana  ; 
Turned  the  two-lakh  Hospital  into  a  superb  Zenana ; 

Heaped  upon  the  Bukhshi  Sahib  wealth  and  honours 

manifold ; 
Clad  himself  in  Eastern  garb  —  squeezed  his  people 

as  of  old. 
Happy,  happy   Kolazai !     Never  more  will   Rustum 

Beg 
Play  to   catch    the  Viceroy's   eye.     He   prefers   the 

"simpkin"  peg. 


THE    STORY   OF    URIAH 

"Now  there  were  two  men  t7i  one  city;  the  one  rich^ 
and  the  other  poor^ 

Jack  Barrett  went  to  Quetta 

Because  they  told  him  to. 
He  left  his  wife  at  Simla 

On  three-fourths  his  monthly  screw. 
Jack  Barrett  died  at  Quetta 

Ere  the  next  month's  pay  he  drew. 

Jack  Barrett  went  to  Quetta, 

He  didn't  understand 
The  reason  of  his  transfer 

From  the  pleasant  mountain-land : 
The  season  was  September, 

And  it  killed  him  out  of  hand. 

Jack  Barrett  went  to  Quetta 
And  there  gave  up  the  ghost : 

Attempting  two  men's  duty 
In  that  very  healthy  post ; 
25 


26  THE   STORY   OF   URIAH 

And  Mrs.  Barrett  mourned  for  him 
Five  lively  months  at  most. 

Jack  Barrett's  bones  at  Quetta 
Enjoy  profound  repose ; 

But  I  shouldn't  be  astonished 
If  now  his  spirit  knows 

The  reason  of  his  transfer 
From  the  Himalayan  snows. 

And,  when  the  Last  Great  Bugle  Call 

Adown  the  Hurnai  throbs, 
When  the  last  grim  joke  is  entered 

In  the  big  black  Book  of  Jobs, 
And  Quetta  graveyards  give  again 

Their  victims  to  the  air, 
I  shouldn't  like  to  be  the  man. 

Who  sent  Jack  Barrett  there. 


THE   POST  THAT   FITTED 

Though  tangled  and  twisted  the  course  of  true  love, 

This  ditty  explains 
No  tangle's  so  tangled  it  cannot  improve 

If  the  Lover  has  brains. 

Ere   the   steamer   bore    him   Eastward,   Sleary  was 

engaged  to  marry 
An  attractive  girl  at  Tunbridge,  whom  he  called  "  my 

little  Carrie." 
Sleary's  pay  was  very  modest ;    Sleary  was  the  other 

way. 
Who  can  cook  a  two-plate  dinner  on  eight  paltry  dibs 

a  day? 

Long  he  pondered  o'er  the  question  in  his  scantly 

furnished  quarters  — 
Then  proposed  to  Minnie  Boffkin,  eldest  of  Judge 

Boffkin's  daughters. 
Certainly  an  impecunious  Subaltern  was  not  a  catch, 
But  the  Boffkins  knew  that  Minnie  mightn't  make 

another  match. 

27 


28  THE   POST  THAT   FITTED 

So  they  recognized  the  business  and,  to  feed  and  clothe 

the  bride, 
Got  him  made  a  Something-Something  somewhere  on 

the  Bombay  side. 
Anyhow,  the  billet  carried   pay  enough  for  him  to 

marry  — 
As  the  artless  Bleary  put  it :  — "  Just  the  thing  for  me 

and  Carrie." 

Did  he,  therefore,  jilt  Miss  Boffkin — impulse  of  a 

baser  mind? 
No  !     He  started  epileptic  fits  of  an  appalhng  kind. 
[Of   his    modus    operandi  only    this    much    I    could 

gather :  — 
"Pears'  shaving  sticks  will  give  you  little  taste  and 

lots  of  lather."] 

Frequently   in   pubHc   places   his   affliction   used    to 

smite 
Sleary  with  distressing  vigour  —  always  in  the  Boff kins' 

sight. 
Ere  a  week  was  over  Minnie  weepingly  returned  his 

ring. 
Told  him  his  "  unhappy  weakness  "  stopped  all  thought 

of  marrying. 


THE    POST   THAT    FITTED  29 

Sleary  bore    the   information   with   a  chastened   holy 

joy,  — 

[Epileptic  fits  don't  matter  in  Political  employ,] 
Wired  three  short  words  to  Carrie  —  took  his  ticket, 

packed  his  kit  — 
Bade  farewell  to  Minnie  Boffkin  in  one  last,   long, 

lingering  fit. 

Four  weeks  later,  Carrie  Sleary  read — and  laughed 

until  she  wept  — 
Mrs.    Boffkin's   warning    letter    on    the    "wretched 

epilept." 
Year  by  year,  in  pious  patience,  vengeful  Mrs.  Boffkin 

sits 
Waiting  for  the  Sleary  babies  to  develop  Sleary's  fits. 


A   CODE   OF   MORALS 

Lest  you  should  think  this  story  true 
I  merely  metition  I 
Evolved  it  lately.     '  Tis  a  7?iost 
Un77iitigated  misstatement. 

Now  Jones  had  left  his  new-wed  bride  to  keep  his 

house  in  order, 
And  hied  away  to  the  Hurrum  Hills  above  the  Afgrian 

border, 
To  sit  on  a  rock  with  a  heliograph ;   but  ere  he  left 

he  taught 
His  wife  the  working  of  the  Code  that  sets  the  miles 

at  naught. 

And  Love  had  made  him  very  sage,  as  Nature  made 

her  fair ; 
So  Cupid  and  Apollo  linked,  per  heliograph,  the  pair. 
At  dawn,  across  the   Hurrum  Hills,  he  flashed   her 

counsel  wise  — 
At  e'en,  the  dying  sunset  bore  her  husband's  homilies. 

30 


A   CODE   OF    MORALS  '-'A 

He  warned  her  'gainst  seductive  youths  in  scarlet  clad 

and  gold, 
As  much  as  'gainst  the  blandishments  paternal  of  the 

old; 
But  kept  his  gravest  warnings  for  (hereby  my  ditty 

hangs) 
That     snowy-haired     Lothario,     Lieutenant-General 

Bangs. 

'Twas  General  Bangs,  with  Aide  and  Staff,  that  tit- 
tupped  on  the  way, 

When  they  beheld  a  heliograph  tempestuously  at  play. 

They  thought  of  Border  risings,  and  of  stations  sacked 
and  burnt  — 

So  stopped  to  take  the  message  down  —  and  this  is 
what  they  learnt :  — 

"  Dash  dot  dot,  dot,  dot  dash,  dot  dash  dot "  twice. 

The  General  swore. 
**  Was    ever    General    Officer    addressed    as   '  dear ' 

before  ? 
" '  My  Love,'  i'  faith  !   '  My  Duck,'  Gadzooks  !  '  My 

darhng  popsy-wop  ! ' 
"Spirit    of   great    Lord    Wolseley,   w/io    is    on    that 

mountain  top  ?  " 


32  A  CODE   OF   MORALS 

The  artless  Aide-de-camp  was  mute ;  the  gilded  Staff 
were  still, 

As,  dumb  with  pent-up  mirth,  they  booked  that  mes- 
sage from  the  hill ; 

For  clear  as  summer-lightning  flare,  the  husband's 
warning  ran :  — 

"  Don't  dance  or  ride  with  General  Bangs  —  a  most 
immoral  man." 

[At  dawn,  across  the  Hurrum  Hills,  he  flashed  her 

counsel  wise  — 
But,  howsoever  Love  be  blind,  the  world  at  large  hath 

eyes.] 
With  damnatory  dot  and  dash   he  heliographed   his 

wife 
Some  interesting  details  of  the  General's  private  life. 

The  artless  Aide-de-camp  was  mute ;  the  shining  Staff 

were  still. 
And  red  and  ever  redder  grew  the  General's  shaven 

gill. 
And  this  is  what  he  said  at  last  (his  feelings  matter 

not)  :  — 
"  I  think  we've  tapped  a  private  line.     Hi  !    Threes 

about  there  !     Trot !  " 


A  CODE   OF   MORALS  33 

All  honour  unto  Bangs,  for  ne'er  did  Jones  thereafter 

know 
By  word  or  act  official  who  read  off  that  helio. ; 
But  the  tale  is  on  the  Frontier,  and  from  Michni  to 

Mool/an 
They  know  the  worthy  General  as  "  that  most  immoral 

man." 


PUBLIC   WASTE 

Walpole  talks  of  '^  a  7?ian  and  his  price ^^ 
List  to  a  ditty  queer — 

The  sale  of  a  Deputy- Acting-  Vice- 
Resident-  Engineer 

Bought  like  a  bullock,  hoof  and  hide, 

By  the  Little  Tin  Gods  on  the  Mountain  Side. 

By  the  laws  of  the  Family  Circle  'tis  written  in  letters 

of  brass 
That  only  a  Colonel  from  Chatham  can  manage  the 

Railways  of  State, 
Because  of  the  gold  on  his  breeks,  and  the  subjects 

wherein  he  must  pass ; 
Because  in  all  matters  that  deal  not  with  Railways  his 

knowledge  is  great. 

Now  Exeter  Battleby  Tring  had  laboured  from  boy- 
hood to  eld 

On  the  Lines  of  the  East  and  the  West,  likewise  of  the 
North  and  South; 

34 


PUBLIC   WASTE  85 

Many  lines  had  he  built  and  surveyed  —  important  the 

posts  which  he  held  ; 
And  the  Lords  of  the  Iron  Horse  were  dumb  when  he 

opened  his  mouth. 

Black  as  the  raven  his  garb,  and  his  heresies  jettier 

still  — 
Hinting  that  Railways  required  lifetimes  of  study  and 

knowledge  — 
Never  clanked  sword  by  his  side  —  Vauban  he  knew 

not,  nor  drill  — 
Nor  was  his  name  on  the  list  of  men  who  had  passed 

through  the  "  College." 

Wherefore  the  Little  Tin  Gods  harried  their  httle  tin 
souls, 

Seeing  he  came  not  from  Chatham,  jingled  no  spurs  at 
his  heels, 

Knowing  that,  nevertheless,  was  he  first  on  the  Gov- 
ernment rolls 

For  the  billet  of  "  Railway  Instructor  to  Little  Tin 
Gods  on  Wheels."  ^ 

Letters  not  seldom  they  wrote  him,  "having  the 
honour  to  state," 


36  PUBLIC   WASTE 

It  would  be  better  for  all  men  if  he  were  laid  on  th(L 
shelf: 

Much  would  accrue  to  his  bank-book  an  he  con- 
sented to  wait 

Until  the  Little  Tin  Gods  built  him  a  berth  for  him- 
self. 

"  Special,  well  paid,  and  exempt  from  the  Law  of  the 
Fifty  and  Five, 

Even  to  Ninety  and  Nine  "  —  these  were  the  terms  of 
the  pact : 

Thus  did  the  Little  Tin  Gods  (long  may  Their  High- 
nesses thrive  ! ) 

Silence  his  mouth  with  rupees,  keeping  their  Circle 
intact ; 

Appointing  a  Colonel  from  Chatham  who  managed 
the  Bhamo  State  Line, 

(The  which  was  one  mile  and  one  furlong  —  a  guaran- 
teed twenty-inch  gauge) 

So  Exeter  Battleby  Tring  consented  his  claims  to 
resign, 

And  died,  on  four  thousand  a  month,  in  the  ninetieth 
year  of  his  age  1 


WHAT   HAPPENED 

HuRREE  Chunder  Mookerjee,  pride  of  Bow  Bazar, 
Owner  of  a  native  press,  "  Barrishter-at-Lar," 
Waited  on  the  Government  with  a  claim  to  wear 
Sabres  by  the  bucketful,  rifles  by  the  pair. 

Then  the  Indian  Government  winked  a  wicked  wink. 
Said  to  Chunder  Mookerjee  :  "  Stick  to  pen  and  ink. 
They  are  safer  implements,  but,  if  you  insist. 
We  will  let  you  carry  arms  wheresoe'er  you  list." 

Hurree  Chunder  Mookerjee  sought  the  gunsmith  and 
Bought  the  tubes  of  Lancaster,  Ballard,  Dean,  and 

Bland, 
Bought   a   shiny   bowie-knife,   bought    a    town-made 

sword. 
Jingled  like  a  carriage-horse  when  he  went  abroad. 

But  the  Indian  Government,  always  keen  to  please, 
Also  gave  permission  to  horrid  men  like  these  — 
Yar  Mahommed  Yusefzai,  down  to  kill  or  steal ; 
Chimbu  Singh  from  Bikaneer,  Tantia  the  Bhil ; 

37 


38  WHAT   HAPPENED 

Killar  Khan  the  Marri  chief,  Jowar  Singh  the  Sikh, 
Nubbee  Baksh  Punjabi  Jat,  Abdul  Huq  Rafiq  — 
He  was  a  Wahabi ;  last,  httle  Boh  Hla-oo 
Took  advantage  of  the  Act  —  took  a  Snider  too. 

They  were  unenlightened  men,  Ballard  knew  them  not. 
They  procured  their  swords  and  guns  chiefly  on  the 

spot. 
And  the  lore  of  centuries,  plus  a  hundred  fights. 
Made  them  slow  to  disregard  one  another's  rights. 

With  a  unanimity  dear  to  patriot  hearts 

All  those  hairy  gentlemen  out  of  foreign  parts 

Said  :  "  The  good  old  days  are  back  —  let  us  go  to 

war  ! " 
Swaggered  down  the  Grand  Trunk  Road  into  Bow 

Bazar. 

Nubbee  Baksh  Punjabi  Jat  found  a  hide-bound  flail, 
Chimbu  Singh  from  Bikaneer  oiled  his  Tonk  jezail, 
Yar  Mahommed  Yusufzai  spat  and  grinned  with  glee 
As  he  ground  the  butcher-knife  of  the  Khyberee. 

Jowar  Singh  the  Sikh  procured  sabre,  quoit,  and  mace, 
Abdul  Huq,  Wahabi,  took  his  dagger  from  its  place, 


WHAT    HAPPENED  39 

While  amid  the  jungle-grass  danced  and  grinned  and 

jabbered 
Little  Boh  Hla-oo  and  cleared  the  dah-blade  from  the 

scabbard. 

What  became  of  Mookerjee  ?     Soothly,  who  can  say  ? 
Yar  Mahommed  only  grins  in  a  nasty  way, 
Jowar  Singh  is  reticent,  Chimbu  Singh  is  mute; 
But  the  belts  of  all  of  them  simply  bulge  with  loot. 

What  became  of  Ballard's  guns  ?     Afghans  black  and 

grubby 
Sell  them  for  their  silver  weight  to  the  men  of  Pubbi ; 
And  the  shiny  bowie-knife  and  the  town-made  sword 

are 
Hanging  in  a  Marri  camp  just  across  the  Border, 

What  became  of  Mookerjee?     Ask  Mahommed  Yar 
Prodding  Siva's  sacred  bull  down  the  Bow  Bazar. 
Speak  to  placid  Nubbee  Baksh  —  question  land  and 

sea  — 
Ask  the  Indian  Congress  men  —  only  don't  ask  me  ! 


THE   MAN   WHO   COULD   WRITE 

Shun  —  shun  the  Bowl  /     That  fatal,  facile  drink 
Has  ruined  inafiy  geese  who  dipped  their  quills  in't, 

Bribe,  7?iurder,  marry,  but  steer  clear  of  Ink 

Save  when  you  write  receipts  for  paid-up  bills  in't. 

There  7nay  be  silver  in  the  "  blue-black  "  —  all 

J  know  of  is  the  iron  and  the  gall. 

Boanerges  Blitzen,  servant  of  the  Queen, 
Is  a  dismal  failure  —  is  a  Might-have-been. 
In  a  luckless  moment  he  discovered  men 
Rise  to  high  position  through  a  ready  pen. 

Boanerges  Blitzen  argued  therefore  —  "  I, 
With  the  selfsame  weapon,  can  attain  as  high." 
Only  he  did  not  possess  when  he  made  the  trial. 
Wicked  wit  of  C-lv-n,  irony  of  L — 1. 

[Men  who  spar  with  Government  need,  to  back  their 

blows. 
Something  more  than  ordinary  journalistic  prose.] 

40 


THE   iMAN   WHO   COULD   WRITE  41 

Never  young  Civilian's  prospects  were  so  bright, 
Till  an  Indian  paper  found  that  he  could  write  : 
Never  young  Civilian's  prospects  were  so  dark, 
When  the  wretched  Blitzen  wrote  to  make  his  mark. 

Certainly  he  scored  it,  bold,  and  black,  and  firm  — 
In  that  Indian  paper  made  his  seniors  squirm  — 
Quoted  office  scandals,  wrote  the  tactless  truth  — 
Was  there  ever  known  a  more  misguided  youth  ? 

When  the  Indian  paper  praised  his  plucky  game, 
Boanerges  Bhtzen  felt  that  this  was  fame  : 
When  the  men  he  wrote  of  shook  their  heads  and  swore, 
Boanerges  Blitzen  only  wrote  the  more ; 

Posed  as  Young  Ithuriel,  resolute  and  grim, 
Till  he  found  promotion  didn't  come  to  him; 
Till  he  found  that  reprimands  weekly  were  his  lot, 
And  his  many  Districts  curiously  hot. 

Till  he  found  his  furlough  strangely  hard  to  win, 

Boanerges  Blitzen  didn't  care  a  pin  : 

Then  it  seemed  to  dawn  on  him   something  wasn't 

right  — 
Boanerges  Blitzen  put  it  down  to  "  spite." 


42  THE   MAN   WHO   COULD   WRITE 

Languished  in  a  District  desolate  and  dry; 
Watched  the  Local  Government  yearly  pass  him  by ; 
Wondered  where  the  hitch  was  ;  called  it  most  unfair. 

That  was  seven  years  ago  —  and  he  still  is  there. 


PINK   DOMINOES 

"  They  are  fools  who  kiss  and  ieW  — 
Wisely  has  the  poet  sung. 
Man  may  hold  all  sorts  of  posts 
If  he'll  07ily  hold  his  tongue. 

Jenny  and  Me  were  engaged,  you  see 

On  the  eve  of  the  Fancy  Ball ; 
So  a  kiss  or  two  was  nothing  to  you 

Or  any  one  else  at  all. 

Jenny  would  go  in  a  domino  — 

Pretty  and  pink  but  warm  ; 
While  I  attended,  clad  in  a  splendid 

Austrian  uniform. 

Now  we  had  arranged,  through  notes  exchanged 

Early  that  afternoon. 
At  Number  Four  to  waltz  no  more, 

But  to  sit  in  the  dusk  and  spoon. 

[I  wish  you  to  see  that  Jenny  and  Me 
Had  barely  exchanged  our  troth  ; 
43 


44  PINK   DOMINOES 

So  a  kiss  or  two  was  strictly  due 
By,  from,  and  between  us  both.] 

When  Three  was  over,  an  eager  lover, 

I  fled  to  the  gloom  outside  ; 
And  a  Domino  came  out  also 

Whom  I  took  for  my  future  bride. 

That  is  to  say,  in  a  casual  way, 

I  slipped  my  arm  around  her ; 
With  a  kiss  or  two  (which  is  nothing  to  you), 

And  ready  to  kiss  I  found  her. 

She  turned  her  head  and  the  name  she  said 

Was  certainly  not  my  own  ; 
But  ere  I  could  speak,  with  a  smothered  shriek 

She  fled  and  left  me  alone. 

Then  Jenny  came,  and  I  saw  with  shame. 

She'd  doffed  her  domino  ; 
And  I  had  embraced  a  stranger's  waist  — 

But  I  did  not  tell  her  so. 

Next  morn  I  knew  that  there  were  two 
Dominoes  pink,  and  one 


PINK   DOMINOES  45 

Had  cloaked  the  spouse  of  Sir  Julian  Vouse, 
Our  big  Political  gun. 

Sir  J.  was  old,  and  her  hair  was  gold, 
And  her  eyes  were  a  blue  cerulean  ; 

And  the  name  she  said  when  she  turned  her  head 
Was  not  in  the  least  like  "  Julian." 

Now  wasn't  it  nice,  when  want  oi pice 

Forbade  us  twain  to  marry, 
That  old  Sir  J.  in  the  kindest  way. 

Made  me  his  Secre/^rry  ? 


MUNICIPAL 

"  IV/iy  is  my  District  death-rate  low  ?  " 

Said  Binks  of  Hezabad. 

"  Wells,  drai7ts,  and  sew  age -outfalls  are 

"  My  own  peculiar  fad. 

"  /  learnt  a  lesson  once.     It  ran 

"  Thus,''  quoth  that  most  veracious  mati :  — 

It   was  an  August  evening,  and  in  snowy   garments 

clad, 
I  paid  a  round  of  visits  in  the  lines  of  Hezabad  ; 
When,  presently,  my  Waler  saw,  and  did  not  like  at  all, 
A  Commissariat  elephant  careering  down  the  Mall. 

I  couldn't  see  the  driver,  and  across  my  mind  it  rushed 
That  that  Commissariat  elephant  had  suddenly  gone 

musth. 
I  didn't  care  to  meet  him,  and  I  couldn't  well  get 

down. 
So  I  let  the  Waler  have  it,  and  we  headed  for   the 

town. 

46 


MUNICIPAL  47 

The  buggy  was  a  new  one  and,  praise  Dykes,  it  stood 

the  strain 
Till  the  Waler  jumped  a  bullock  just  above  the  City 

Drain ; 
And  the  next  that  I  remember  was  a  hurricane  of 

squeals, 
And  the  creature  making  toothpicks  of  my  five-foot 

patent  wheels. 

He  seemed  to  want  the  owner,  so  I  fled,  distraught 
with  fear. 

To  the  Main  Drain  sewage-outfall  where  he  snorted 
in  my  ear  — 

Reached  the  four-foot  drain-head  safely,  and  in  dark- 
ness and  despair, 

Felt  the  brute's  proboscis  fingering  my  terror-stiffened 
hau\ 

Heard  it  trumpet  on  my  shoulder  —  tried  to  crawl  a 

Httle  higher  — 
Found  the  Main  Drain  sewage-outfall  blocked,  some 

eight  feet  up,  with  mire  ; 
And,  for  twenty  reeking  minutes,  Sir,  my  very  marrow 

froze. 
While  the  trunk  was  feehng  bhndly  for  a  purchase  on 

my  toes  ! 


48  MUNICIPAL 

It  missed  me  by  a  fraction,  but  my  hair  was  turning 

gray 
Before  they  called  the  drivers  up   and   dragged  the 

brute  away. 
Then  I  sought  the  City  Elders,  and  my  words  were 

very  plain. 
They  flushed  that  four- foot  drain-head  and  —  it  never 

choked  again. 

You  may  hold  with  surface- drainage,  and  the  sun-for- 

garbage  cure, 
Till  you've  been  a  periwinkle  shrinking  coyly  up   a 

sewer, 
/believe  in  well-flushed  culverts.  .  .  . 

This  is  why  the  death-rate's  small ; 
And,  if  you  don't  believe  me,  get  shikarred  yourself. 

That's  all. 


THE   LAST   DEPARTMENT 

Twelve  hundred  million  men  are  spread 
About  this  Earth,  and  I  and  You 

Wonder^  when  You  afid  I  are  dead, 
What  will  those  luckless  millions  do  ? 

"  None  whole  or  clean,"  we  cry,  "  or  free  from  stain 
Of  favour."     Wait  awhile,  till  we  attain 

The  Last  Department  where  nor  fraud  nor  fools, 
Nor  grade  nor  greed,  shall  trouble  us  again. 

Fear,  Favour,  or  Affection — what  are  these 
To  the  grim  Head  who  claims  our  services  ? 

I  never  knew  a  wife  or  interest  yet 
Delay  tha.t  pukha  step,  miscalled  "  decease  "  ; 

When  leave,  long  over-due,  none  can  deny ; 
When  idleness  of  all  Eternity 

Becomes  our  furlough,  and  the  marigold 
Our  thriftless,  bullion-minting  Treasury 

49 


50  THE   LAST   DEPARTMENT 

Transferred  to  the  Eternal  Settlement, 
Each  in  his  strait,  wood-scantled  office  pent, 
No  longer  Brown  reverses  Smith's  appeals, 
Or  Jones  records  his  Minute  of  Dissent. 

And  One,  long  since  a  pillar  of  the  Court, 

As  mud  between  the  beams  thereof  is  wrought ; 

And  One  who  wrote  on  phosphates  for  the  crops 
Is  subject-matter  of  his  own  Report. 

[These  be  the  glorious  ends  whereto  we  pass  — 
Let  Him  who  Is,  go  call  on  Him  who  Was ; 

And  He  shall  see  the  mallie  steals  the  slab 
For  currie-grinder,  and  for  goats  the  grass.] 

A  breath  of  wind,  a  Border  bullet's  flight, 
A  draught  of  water,  or  a  horse's  fright  — 

The  droning  of  the  fat  Sheristadar 
Ceases,  the  punkah  stops,  and  falls  the  night 

For  You  or  Me.     Do  those  who  live  decline 
The  step  that  offers,  or  their  work  resign  ? 
Trust  me.  To-day's  Most  Indispensables, 
Five  hundred  men  can  take  your  place  or  mine. 


OTHER   VERSES 


MY   RIVAL 

I  GO  to  concert,  party,  ball  — 

What  profit  is  in  these? 
I  sit  alone  against  the  wall 

And  strive  to  look  at  ease. 
The  incense  that  is  mine  by  right 

They  burn  before  Her  shrine; 
And  that's  because  I'm  seventeen 

And  she  is  forty-nine. 

I  cannot  check  my  girlish  blush, 

My  colour  comes  and  goes; 
I  redden  to  my  finger-tips, 

And  sometimes  to  my  nose. 
But  She  is  white  where  white  should  be 

And  red  where  red  should  shine. 
The  blush  that  flies  at  seventeen 

Is  fixed  at  forty-nine. 

I  wish  /  had  Her  constant  cheek : 
I  wish  that  I  could  sing 
63 


54  MY   RIVAL 

All  sorts  of  funny  little  songs, 

Not  quite  the  proper  thing. 
I'm  very  gauche  and  very  shy, 

Her  jokes  aren't  in  my  line; 
And,  worst  of  all,  I'm  seventeen, 

While  She  is  forty-nine. 

The  young  men  come,   the  young  men  go. 

Each  pink  and  white  and  neat. 
She's  older  than  their  mothers,  but 

They  grovel  at  Her  feet. 
They  walk  beside  Her  ^ rickshaw -v^Yitth  — 

They  never  walk  by  mine; 
And  that's  because  I'm  seventeen 

And  She  is  forty-nine. 

She  rides  with  half  a  dozen  men 

(She  calls  them  "boys"  and  "mashers") 
I  trot  along  the  Mall  alone; 

My  prettiest  frocks  and  sashes 
Don't  help  to  fill  my  programme-card, 

And  vainly  I  repine 
From  ten  to  two  a.m.     Ah  me! 

Would  I  were  forty-nine. 


MY   RIVAL  55 

She  calls  me  "darling,"  "pet,"  and  "dear," 

And  "sweet  retiring  maid." 
I'm  always  at  the  back,  I  know, 

She  puts  me  in  the  shade. 
She  introduces  me  to  men, 

"Cast"  lovers,  I  opine, 
For  sixty  takes  to  seventeen, 

Nineteen  to  forty-nine. 

But  even  She  must  older  grow 

And  end  Her  dancing  days, 
She  can't  go  on  for  ever  so 

At  concerts,  balls,  and  plays. 
One  ray  of  priceless  hope  I  see 

Before  my  footsteps  shine : 
Just  think,  that  She'll  be  eighty-one 

When  I  am  forty-nine  1 


TO  THE  UNKNOWN   GODDESS 

Will  you  conquer  my  heart  with  your  beauty;  my 

soul  going  out  from  afar? 
Shall  I  fall  to  your  hand  as  a  victim  of  crafty  and 

cautious  shikar  ? 

Have  I  met  you  and  passed  you  already,  unknow- 
ing, unthinking,  and  blind? 

Shall  I  meet,  you  next  season  at  Simla,  oh  sweetest 
and  best  of  your  kind? 

Does  the  P.  and  O.  bear  you  to  meward,  or,  clad 

in  short  frocks  in  the  West, 
Are  you  growing  the  charms  that  shall  capture  and 

torture  the  heart  in  my  breast? 

Will   you   stay  in   the   Plains   till   September  —  my 

passion  as  warm  as  the  day? 
Will   you  bring  me  to  book  on  the  Mountains,  or 

where  the  thermantidotes  play? 
6G 


TO   THE   UxNKNOVVN    GODDESS  57 

When  the  light  of  your  eyes  shall  make  pallid  the 

mean  lesser  lights  I  pursue, 
And    the   charm    of    your    presence    shall    lure    me 

from  love  of  the  gay  "thirteen-two "; 

When  the  peg  and   the   pigskin    shall   please   not; 

when  I  buy  me  Calcutta-built  clothes; 
When  I  quit  the  Delight  of  Wild  Asses;  forswearing 

the  swearing  of  oaths; 

As  a  deer  to  the  hand  of   the   hunter  when  I  turn 

'mid  the  gibes  of  my  friends; 
When  the  days  of  my  freedom  are  numbered,  and 

the  life  of  the  bachelor  ends. 

Ah  Goddess!  child,  spinster,  or  widow  —  as  of  old 

on  Mars  Hill  when  they  raised 
To  the  God  that  they  knew  not  an  altar  —  so  I,  a 

young  Pagan,  have  praised 

The  Goddess  I  know  not  nor  worship;  yet,  if  half 

that  men  tell  me  be  true. 
You   will   come    in   the   future,    and    therefore    the 

verses  are  written  to  you! 


THE   RUPAIYAT  OF   OMAR   KAL'VIN 

{^Allowing  for  the  difference  Hivixt  prose  and  rhymed 
exaggeration,  this  ought  to  reproduce  the  sense  of  what  Sir 

A told  the  natioti  sotne  time  ago,  when  the  Goverfi- 

ment  struck  from  our  inco7nes  two  per  cent.'\ 

Now  the  New  Year,  reviving  last  Year's  Debt, 
The  thoughtful  Fisher  casteth  wide  his  Net; 
So  I  with  begging  Dish  and  ready  Tongue 
Assail  all  Men  for  all  that  I  can  get. 

Imports  indeed  are  gone  with  all  their  Dues  — 
Lo !     Salt  a  Lever  that  I  dare  not  use, 

Nor  may  I  ask  the  Tillers  in  Bengal  — 
Surely  my  Kith  and  Kin  will  not  refuse 

Pay  —  and  I  promise  by  the  Dust  of  Spring, 
Retrenchment.     If  my  promises  can  bring 

Comfort,  Ye  have  them  now  a  thousand-fold  — 
By  Allah!  I  will  promise  Anything! 

68 


THE   RUPAIYAT   OF   OMAR    KAL^VIN        59 

Indeed,  indeed,  Retrenchment  oft  before 
I  swore  —  but  did  I  mean  it  when  I  swore? 

And  then,  and  then.  We  wandered  to  the  Hills, 
And  so  the  Little  Less  became  Much  More. 

Whether  a  Boileaugunge  or  Babylon, 

I  know  not  how  the  wretched  Thing  is  done, 

The  Items  of  Receipt  grow  surely  small; 
The  Items  of  Expense  mount  one  by  one. 

I  cannot  help  it.     What  have  I  to  do 

With  One  and  Five,  or  Four,  or  Three,  or  Two? 

Let  Scribes  spit  Blood  and  Sulphur  as  they  please, 
Or  Statesmen  call  me  foolish  —  Heed  not  you. 

Behold,  I  promise  —  Anything  You  will. 
Behold,  I  greet  you  with  an  empty  Till  — 

Ah !  Fellow-Sinners,  of  your  Charily 
Seek  not  the  Reason  of  the  Dearth,  but  fill. 

For  if  I  sinned  and  fell,  where  lies  the  Gain 

Of  Knowledge  ?     Would  it  ease  you  of  your  Pain 

To  know  the  tangled  Threads  of  Revenue, 
I  ravel  deeper  in  a  hopeless  Skein? 


60        THE   RUPAIYAT   OF   OMAR   KAL^VIN 

"Who  hath  not  Prudence  "  —  what  was  it  I  said, 
Of  Her  who  paints  her  Eyes  and  tires  Her  Head, 
And  jibes  and  mocks  the  People  in  the  Street, 
And  fawns  upon  them  for  Her  thriftless  Bread? 

Accursed  is  She  of  Eve's  daughters  —  She 
Hath  cast  off  Prudence,  and  Her  End  shall  be 

Destruction.  .  .  .     Brethren,  of  your  Bounty  grant 
Some  portion  of  your  daily  Bread  to  Me, 


PAGETT,    M.P. 

The  toad  beneath  the  harrow  knows 
Exactly  where  each  tooth-point  goes  ; 
The  butterfly  upon  the  road 
Preaches  contentmetit  to  that  toad. 

Pagett,  M.P.,  was  a  liar,  and  a  fluent  liar  there- 
with, — 

He  spoke  of  the  heat  of  India  as  the  "Asian  Solar 
Myth"; 

Came  on  a  four  months'  visit,  to  "study  the  East," 
in  November. 

And  I  got  him  to  sign  an  agreement  vowing  to  stay 
till  September. 

March  came  in  with  the  koil.     Pagett  was  cool  and 

gay, 

Called    me   a    "bloated    Brahmin,"   talked    of    my 

"princely  pay." 
March  went  out  with  the  roses.     "Where   is  your 

heat?"  said  he. 
"Coming,"    said    I    to    Pagett.       "Skittles!"    said 

Pagett,  M.P. 

61 


62  PAGETT,   M.P. 

April  opened  with  punkahs,  coolies,  and  prickly- 
heat,  — 

Pagett  was  dear  to  mosquitoes,  sandflies  found  him  a 
treat. 

He  grew  speckled  and  lumpy  —  hammered,  I  grieve 
to  say, 

Aryan  brothers  who  fanned  him,  in  an  illiberal  way. 

May  set  in  with  a  dust-storm,  —  Pagett  went  down 

with  the  sun. 
All  the  delights  of  the  season  tickled  him  one  by 

one. 
Itnprimis  —  ten  days'  "liver"  —  due  to  his  drinking 

beer; 
Later,    a   dose   of   fever  —  slight,   but   he  called  it 

severe. 

Dysent'ry  touched   him    in   June,    after   the    Chota 

Bur  sat — 
Lowered    his    portly   person  —  made    him   yearn   to 

depart. 
He  didn't  call  me  a  "Brahmin,"  or  "bloated,"  or 

"overpaid," 
But  seemed  to  think  it  a  wonder  that  any  one  ever 

stayed. 


PAGETT,   M.P.  63 

July  was  a  trifle  unhealthy,  —  Pagett  was  ill  with  fear, 
Called  it  the  "Cholera  Morbus,"  hinted  that  life  was 

dear. 
He  babbled  of  "eastern  exile,"  and  mentioned  his 

home  with  tears; 
But  I  hadn't  seen  my  children  for  close  upon  seven 

years. 

We  reached  a  hundred  and  twenty  once  in  the  Court 
at  noon, 

[I've  mentioned  Pagett  was  portly]  Pagett  went  off  in 
a  swoon. 

That  was  an  end  to  the  business;  Pagett,  the  per- 
jured, fled 

With  a  practical,  working  knowledge  of  "Solar 
Myths  "  in  his  head. 

And  I  laughed  as  I  drove  from  the  station,  but  the 
mirth  died  out  on  my  lips 

As  I  thought  of  the  fools  like  Pagett  who  write  of 
their  "Eastern  trips," 

And  the  sneers  of  the  travelled  idiots  who  duly  mis- 
govern the  land, 

And  I  prayed  to  the  Lord  to  deliver  another  one  into 
my  hand. 


LA   NUIT  BLANCHE 

A  much-discerning  Public  hold 
The  Singer  generally  sings 
Of  personal  and  private  things, 

And  prints  and  sells  his  past  for  gold. 

Whatever  I  may  here  disclaim, 
The  very  clever  folk  I  sing  to 
Will  most  indubitably  cling  to 

Their  pet  delusion,  just  the  same. 

I  HAD  seen,  as  dawn  was  breaking 

And  I  staggered  to  my  rest, 
Tara  Devi  softly  shaking 

From  the  Cart  Road  to  the  crest. 
I  had  seen  the  spurs  of  Jakko 

Heave  and  quiver,  swell  and  sink; 
Was  it  Earthquake  or  tobacco. 

Day  of  Doom  or  Night  of  Drink? 

In  the  full,  fresh,  fragrant  morning 
I  observed  a  camel  crawl, 
61 


LA   NUIT   BLANCHE  65 

Laws  of  gravitation  scorning, 

On  the  ceiling  and  the  wall; 
Then  I  watched  a  fender  walking, 

And  I  heard  gray  leeches  sing, 
And  a  red-hot  monkey  talking 

Did  not  seem  the  proper  thing. 


Then  a  Creature,  skinned  and  crimson, 

Ran  about  the  floor  and  cried, 
And  they  said  I  had  the  "  jims  "  on, 

And  they  dosed  me  with  bromide, 
And  they  locked  me  in  my  bed-room  — 

Me  and  one  wee  Blood  Red  Mouse  — 
Though  I  said :  —  "To  give  my  head  room 

"You  had  best  unroof  the  house." 


But  my  words  were  all  unheeded, 

Though  I  told  the  grave  M.D. 
That  the  treatment  really  needed 

Was  a  dip  in  open  sea 
That  was  lapping  just  below  me. 

Smooth  as  silver,  white  as  snow, 
And  it  took  three  men  to  throw  me 

When  I  found  I  could  not  go. 


66  LA   NUIT   BLANCHE 

Half  the  night  I  watched  the  Heavens 

Fizz  like  '8i  champagne  — 
Fly  to  sixes  and  to  sevens, 

Wheel  and  thunder  back  again; 
And  when  all  was  peace  and  order 

Save  one  planet  nailed  askew, 
Much  I  wept  because  my  warder 

Would  not  let  me  set  it  true. 

After  frenzied  hours  of  waiting. 

When  the  Earth  and  Skies  were  dumb, 
Pealed  an  awful  voice  dictating 

An  interminable  sum, 
Changing  to  a  tangled  story  — 

"What  she  said  you  said  I  said  —  " 
Till  the  Moon  arose  in  glory, 

And  I  found  her  ...  in  my  head; 

Then  a  Face  came,  blind  and  weeping, 

And  It  couldn't  wipe  Its  eyes. 
And  It  muttered  I  was  keeping 

Back  the  moonlight  from  the  skies; 
So  I  patted  It  for  pity. 

But  It  whistled  shrill  with  wrath, 
And  a  huge,  black  Devil  City 

Poured  its  peoples  on  my  path. 


LA   NUIT   BLANCHE  67 

So  I  fled  with  steps  uncertain 

On  a  thousand-year  long  race, 
But  the  bellying  of  the  curtain 

Kept  me  always  in  one  place ; 
While  the  tumult  rose  and  maddened 

To  the  roar  of  Earth  on  fire, 
Ere  it  ebbed  and  sank  and  saddened 

To  a  whisper  tense  as  wire. 

In  intolerable  stillness 

Rose  one  little,  little  star. 
And  it  chuckled  at  my  illness. 

And  it  mocked  me  from  afar; 
And  its  brethren  came  and  eyed  me, 

Called  the  Universe  to  aid, 
Till  I  lay,  with  naught  to  hide  me, 

'Neath  the  Scorn  of  all  Things  Made. 

Dun  and  saffron,  robed  and  splendid 

Broke  the  solemn,  pitying  Day, 
And  I  knew  my  pains  were  ended. 

And  I  turned  and  tried  to  pray; 
But  my  speech  was  shattered  wholly, 

And  I  wept  as  children  Aveep, 
Till  the  dawn-wind,  softly,  slowly. 

Brought  to  burning  eyelids  sleep. 


THE   LOVERS'    LITANY 

Eyes  of  gray  —  the  sodden  quay, 

Driving  rain  and  falling  tears, 

As  the  steamer  heads  to  sea 

In  a  parting  storm  of  cheers. 
Sing,  for  Faith  and  Hope  are  high  — 
None  so  true  as  you  and  I  — 
Sing  the  Lovers'  Litany :  — 
^^  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  !  " 

Eyes  of  black  —  the  throbbing  keel 

Milky  foam  to  left  and  right; 

Little  vi^hispers  near  the  wheel 

In  the  brilliant  tropic  night. 

Cross  that  rules  the  Southern  Sky, 
Stars  that  sweep,  and  wheel,  and  fly. 
Hear  the  Lovers'  Litany :  — 
^^  Love  like  ours  can  7ievcr  die  /  " 

Eyes  of  brown  —  the  dusty  plain 
Split  and  parched  with  heat  of  June. 
68 


THE    LOVERS'   LITANY  69 

Flying  hoof  and  tightened  rein, 
Hearts  that  beat  the  old,  old  tune. 

Side  by  side  the  horses  fly. 

Frame  we  now  the  old  reply 

Of  the  Lovers'  Litany:  — 

"  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  /  " 

Eyes  of  blue  —  the  Simla  Hills 
Silvered  with  the  moonlight  hoar; 
Pleading  of  the  waltz  that  thrills, 
Dies  and  echoes  round  Benmore. 

''Mabel,''  "  Officers;'  "  Good-bye^' 

Glamour,  wine,  and  witchery  — 

On  my  soul's  sincerity, 

''Love  like  ours  can  never  die!  ^* 

Maidens,  of  your  charity, 
Pity  my  most  luckless  state. 
Four  times  Cupid's  debtor  I  — 
Bankrupt  in  quadruplicate. 

Yet,  despite  this  evil  case. 

And  a  maiden  showed  me  grace, 

Four-and- forty  times  would  I 

Sing  the  Lovers'  Litany :  — 

"Love  like  ours  can  never  die  !  " 


A   BALLAD   OF   BURIAL 

''''Saint  Praxed''s  ever  was  the  Church  for  peace.''' 

If  down  here  I  chance  to  die, 

Solemnly  I  beg  you  take 
All  that  is  left  of  "I" 

To  the  Hills  for  old  sake's  sake. 
Pack,  and  pack  me  thoroughly. 

In  the  ice  that  used  to  slake 
Drinks  I  drank  when  I  was  dry  — 

This  observe  for  old  sake's  sake. 

To  the  railway  station  hie, 

There  a  single  ticket  take 
For  Umballa  —  goods- train  —  I 

Shall  not  mind  delay  or  shake. 
I  shall  rest  contentedly 

Spite  of  clamour  coolies  make; 
Thus  in  frozen  dignity 

Send  me  up  for  old  sake's  sake. 
70 


A  BALLAD   OF   BURIAL  71 

Next  the  sleepy  Babu  wake, 

Book  a  Kalka  van  "for  four." 
Few,  I  think,  will  care  to  make 

Journeys  with  me  any  more 
As  they  used  to  do  of  yore. 

I  shall  need  a  "special  "  break  — 
Thing  I  never  took  before  — 

Get  me  one  for  old  sake's  sake. 


After  that  —  arrangements  make, 

No  hotel  will  take  me  in. 
And  a  bullock's  back  would  break 

'Neath  the  teak  and  leaden  skin. 
Tonga-ropes  are  frail  and  thin, 

Or,  did  I  a  back  seat  take. 
In  a  tonga  I  might  spin, 

Do  your  best  for  old  sake's  sake. 

After  that  —  your  work  is  done. 

Recollect  a  Padre  must 
Mourn  the  dear  departed  one  — 

Throw  the  ashes  and  the  dust. 
Don't  go  down  at  once.     I  trust 

You  will  find  excuse  to  "  snake 


72  A   BALLAD   OF   BURIAL 

Three  days'  casual  on  the  bust,"  — 
Get  your  fun  for  old  sake's  sake. 

I  could  never  stand  the  Plains. 

Think  of  blazing  June  and  May, 
Think  of  those  September  rains 

Yearly  till  the  Judgment  Day ! 
I  should  never  rest  in  peace, 

I  should  sweat  and  lie  awake. 
Rail  me  then,  on  my  decease, 

To  the  Hills  for  old  sake's  sake. 


THE   OVERLAND   MAIL 

\Foot-service  to  the  Hills] 

In  the  name  of  the  Empress  of  India,  make  way, 
O  Lords  of  the  Jungle,  wherever  you  roam, 

The  woods  are  awake  at  the  end  of  the  day  — 
We  exiles  are  waiting  for  letters  from  Home. 

Let  the  robber  retreat  —  and  the  tiger  turn  tail  — 

In  the  Name  of  the  Empress,  the  Overland  Mail ! 

With  a  jingle  of  bells  as  the  dusk  gathers  in, 

He  turns  to  the  foot-path  that  heads  up  the  hill  — 

The  bags  on  his  back  and  a  cloth  round  his  chin, 
And,    tucked   in   his   waistbelt,    the    Post    Office 
bill;  — 

"  Despatched  on  this  date,  as  received  by  the  rail, 

^^ Per  runner,  two  bags  of  the  Overland  Mail." 

Is  the  torrent  in  spate?     He  must  ford  it  or  swim. 
Has  the  rain  wrecked  the  road?     He  must  climb 
by  the  cliff, 

73 


74  THE  OVERLAND   MAIL 

Does  the  tempest  cry  halt?    What  are  tempests  to 

him? 
The  service  admits  not  a  "but"  or  an  "if." 
While  the  breath's  in  his  mouth,  he  must  bear  without 

fail, 
In  the  Name  of  the  Empress,  the  Overland  Mail. 

From  aloe  to  rose-oak,  from  rose-oak  to  fir, 
From  level  to  upland,  from  upland  to  crest. 

From  rice-field  to  rock-ridge,  from  rock- ridge  to  spur, 
Fly  the   soft-sandalled   feet,   strains    the    scrawny 
brown  chest. 

From  rail  to  ravine  —  to  the  peak  from  the  vale  — 

Up,  up  through  the  night  goes  the  Overland  Mail. 

There's  a  speck  on  the  hill-side,  a  dot  on  the  road  — 
A  jingle  of  bells  on  the  foot-path  below  — 

There's  a  scuffle  above  in  the  monkey's  abode  — 
The  world  is  awake  and  the  clouds  are  aglow. 

For  the  great  Sun  himself  must  attend  to  the  hail :  — 

"  In  the  Name  of  the  Empress,  the  Overland  Mail !  " 


DIVIDED   DESTINIES 

It  was  an  artless  Bandar,  and  he  danced  upon  a  pine, 
And  much  I  wondered  how  he  hved,  and  where  the 

beast  might  dine, 
And  many  many  other  things,  till,  o'er  my  morning 

smoke, 
I  slept  the  sleep  of  idleness  and  dreamt  that  Bandar 

spoke. 

He  said  :  —  "  Oh  man  of  many  clothes  !     Sad  crawler 

on  the  Hills  ! 
"Observe,  I  know  not  Ranken's  shop,  nor  Ranken's 

monthly  bills  ! 
"  I  take  no  heed  to  trousers  or  the  coats  that  you  call 

dress ; 
"  Nor  am  I  plagued  with  little  cards  for  little  drinks  at 

Mess. 

"  I  steal  the  bunnia's  grain  at  morn,  at  noon  and  even- 
tide 

"(For  he  is  fat  and  I  am  spare),  I  roam  the  mountain 
side, 

76 


76  DIVIDED   DESTINIES 

"  I  follow  no  man's  carriage,  and  no,  never  in  my  life 
"  Have  I  flirted  at  Peliti's  with  another  Bandar^ s  wife. 

"Oh  man  of  futile  fopperies  —  unnecessary  wraps; 
"  I  own  no  ponies  in  the  hills,  I  drive  no  tall-wheeled 

traps. 
"  I  buy  me  not  twelve-button  gloves,  *  short-sixes '  eke, 

of  rings, 
"  Nor  do  I  waste  at  Hamilton's  my  wealth  on  pretty 

things. 

"  I   quarrel   with   my  wife   at   home,  we  never  fight 

abroad ; 
"  But  Mrs.  B.  has  grasped  the  fact  I  am  her  only  lord. 
"I  never  heard  of  fever  —  dumps  nor  debts  depress 

my  soul ; 
"And  I  pity  and  despise  you!"     Here  he  pouched 

my  breakfast-roll. 

His  hide  was  very  mangy  and  his  face  was  very  red. 
And  undisguisedly  he  scratched  with  energy  his  head. 
His  manners  were  not  always  nice,  but  how  my  spirit 

cried 
To  be  an  artless  Bandar  loose  upon  the  mountain 

side  1 


DIVIDED   DESTLNIES  77 

So   I   answered  :  — "  Gentle  Bandar,  an   inscrutable 

Decree, 
"  Makes  thee  a  gleesome  fleasome  Thou,  and  me  a 

wretched  Me. 
"  Go  !    Depart   in   peace,  my  brother,  to  thy  home 

amid  the  pine ; 
"Yet  forget  not  once  a  mortal  wished  to  change  his 

lot  with  thine." 


THE   MASQUE   OF   PLENTY 

Argument.  —  The  Indian  Government  being  minded 
to  discover  the  economic  condition  of  their  lands,  sent  a 
Committee  to  inquire  into  it ;   and  saw  that  it  was  good. 

Scene.  —  The  wooded  heights  of  Simla.  The  Incar- 
nation of  the  Gover?inient  of  India  i?i  the  raiment 
of  the  A7igel  of  Plenty  sitigs,  to  pianoforte  ac- 
companiment :  — 

"  How  sweet  is  the  shepherd's  sweet  Ufe  ! 

From  the  dawn  to  the  even  he  strays  — 
He  shall  follow  his  sheep  all  the  day 

And  his  tongue  shall  be  filled  with  praise. 

{adagio  dim.)   Filled  with  praise  !  " 

{Jargendo  con  sp.)   Now  this  is  the  position, 
Go  make  an  inquisition 
Into  their  real  condition 
As  swiftly  as  ye  may. 
(/)  Ay,  paint  our  swarthy  billions 
The  richest  of  vermilions 
Ere  two  well-led  cotillions 
Have  danced  themselves  away. 
78 


THE   MASQUE   OF   PLENTY  79 

Turkish  Patrol,  as  able  and  intelligent  Investigators 
wind  down  the  Himalayas :  — 

What  is  the  state  of  the  Nation?     What  is  its  occupa- 
tion? 
Hi  !    get  along,  get  along,  get  along,  —  lend  us  the 

information  ! 
{dim.)  Census  the  byle  and  \kiQ yabu  —  capture  a  first- 
class  Babu, 
Set  him  to  cut  Gazetteers  —  Gazetteers  .  .    . 

(/■)   What  is  the  state  of  the  Nation,  &c.,  &c. 

Interlude,  from  Nowhere  in  Particular,  to  stringed 
and  Oriental  instruments. 

Our  cattle  reel  beneath  the  yoke  they  bear  — 
The  earth  is  iron  and  the  skies  are  brass  — 

And  faint  ^vith  fervour  of  the  flaming  air 
The  languid  hours  pass. 

Our  wells  are  dry  beneath  the  village  tree  — 
The  young  wheat  withers  ere  it  reach  a  span, 

And  belts  of  blinding  sand  show  cruelly 
Where  once  the  river  ran. 

Pray,  brothers,  pray,  but  to  no  earthly  King  — 
Lift  up  your  hands  above  the  blighted  grain, 


80  THE   MASQUE   OF   PLENTY 

Look  westward  —  if  They  please,  the  Gods  shall  bring 
Their  mercy  with  the  Rain. 

Look  westward — bears  the  blue  no  brown  cloud-bank? 

Nay,  it  is  written  —  wherefore  should  we  fly  ? 
On  our  own  field  and  by  our  cattle's  flank 

Lie  down,  lie  down  to  die  ! 

Semi-Chorus. 

By  the  plumed  heads  of  Kings 

Waving  high. 
Where  the  tall  corn  springs 

O'er  the  dead. 
If  they  rust  or  rot  we  die. 
If  they  ripen  we  are  fed. 
Very  mighty  is  the  power  of  our  Kings  ! 

Triumphal  return  to  St7nla  of  the  Investigators,  attired 
after  the  manner  of  Dionysus,  leading  a  pet  tiger-cub 
in  wreaths  of  7'hudar/)  leaves,  sytnbolical  of  India 
under  medical  treatment.     They  sing :  — 

We  have  seen,  we  have  written  —  behold  it,  the  proof 

of  our  manifold  toil ! 
In  their  hosts  they  assembled  and  told  it  —  the  tale  of 

the  Sons  of  the  Soil. 


THE   MASQUE   OF   PLENTY  81 

We  have  said  of  the  Sickness  —  "  Where  is  it  ?  "  —  and 

of  Death  —  "  It  is  far  from  our  ken,"  — 
We  have  paid  a  particular  visit  to  the  affluent  children 

of  men. 
We  have  trodden  the  mart  and  the  well-curb  —  we 

have  stooped  to  the  bield  and  the  byre ; 
And  the  King  may  the  forces  of  Hell  curb  —  for  the 

People  have  all  they  desire  ! 

Castanets  and  step-dance : 

Oh,  the  dom  and  the  fjiag  and  the  thakur  and  the  thag, 

And  the  nat  and  the  brinjaree, 
And  the  bimnia  and  the  ryot  are  as  happy  and  as  quiet 

And  as  plump  as  they  can  be  ! 
Yes,  the  jain  and  the  jat  in  his  stucco-fronted  hut, 

And  the  bounding  baziigar, 
By  the  favour  of  the  King,  are  as  fat  as  anything, 

They  are  —  they  are  —  they  are  ! 

Recitative,   Govermnent  of  India,  with  white  satin 
wings  and  electroplated  harp :  — 

How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains  —  in  peace  reclining, 
Thus  to  be  assured  that  our  people  are  unanimously 

dining. 
And  though  there  are  places  not  so  blessed  as  others 


82  THE   MASQUE   OF   PLENTY 

in  natural  advantages,  which,  after  all,  was  only  to 
be  expected, 
Proud  and  glad  are  we  to  congratulate  you  upon  the 
work  you  have  thus  ably  effected. 

Chorus  of  the  Crystallized  Facts. 

Before  the  beginning  of  years 

There  came  to  the  rule  of  the  State 

Men  with  a  pair  of  shears, 

Men  with  an  Estimate  — 

Strachey  with  Muir  for  leaven, 

Lytton  with  locks  that  fell, 

Ripon  fooling  with  Heaven, 

And  Temple  riding  like  H — 11 ! 

And  the  bigots  took  in  hand 

Cess  and  the  falling  of  rain. 

And  the  measure  of  sifted  sand 

The  dealer  puts  in  the  grain  — 

Imports  by  land  and  sea. 

To  uttermost  decimal  worth. 

And  registration  —  free  — 

In  the  Houses  of  Death  and  of  Birth  : 

And  fashioned  with  pens  and  paper, 

And  fashioned  in  black  and  white. 

With  Life  for  a  flickering  taper 


THE   MASQUE   OF   PLENTY 

And  Death  for  a  blazing  light  — 
With  the  Armed  and  the  Civil  Power, 
That  his  strength  might  endure  for  a  span 
From  Adam's  Bridge  to  Peshawur, 
The  Much  Administered  Man. 

In  the  towns  of  the  North  and  the  East, 

They  gathered  as  unto  rule. 

They  bade  him  starve  his  priest 

And  send  his  children  to  school. 

Railways  and  roads  they  wrought, 

For  the  needs  of  the  trade  within ; 

A  time  to  squabble  in  court, 

A  time  to  bear  and  to  grin ; 

And  gave  him  peace  in  his  ways, 

Jails  —  and  Police  to  fight, 

Justice  at  length  of  days, 

And  Right  —  and  Might  in  the  Right. 

His  speech  is  of  mortgaged  bedding. 

On  his  kine  he  borrows  yet. 

At  his  heart  is  his  daughter's  wedding, 

Tn  his  eye  foreknowledge  of  debt. 

He  eats  and  hath  indigestion. 

He  toils  and  he  may  not  stop ; 

His  life  is  a  long-drawn  question 

Between  a  crop  and  a  crop. 


THE   MARE'S   NEST 

Jane  Austen  Beecher  Stowe  de  Rouse 
Was  good  beyond  all  earthly  need ; 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  her  spouse 
Was  very,  very  bad  indeed. 

He  smoked  cigars,  called  churches  slow, 

And  raced  —  but  this  she  did  not  know. 

For  Belial  MachiavelH  kept 

The  little  fact  a  secret,  and. 
Though  o'er  his  minor  sins  she  wept, 

Jane  Austen  did  not  understand 
That  Lilly  —  thirteen-two  and  bay  — 
Absorbed  one  half  her  husband's  pay. 

She  was  so  good  she  made  him  worse 
(Some  women  are  like  this,  I  think)  ; 

He  taught  her  parrot  how  to  curse, 
Her  Assam  monkey  how  to  drink. 

He  vexed  her  righteous  soul  until 

She  went  up,  and  he  went  down  hill. 
84 


THE   MARE'S    NEST  85 

Then  came  the  crisis,  strange  to  say, 
Which  turned  a  good  wife  to  a  better. 

A  telegraphic  peon,  one  day. 

Brought  her  —  now,  had  it  been  a  letter 

For  Belial  MachiaveUi,  I 

Know  Jane  would  just  have  let  it  lie. 

But  'twas  a  telegram  instead, 

Marked  "urgent,"  and  her  duty  plain 

To  open  it.     Jane  Austen  read  :  — 
"  Vour  Lilly's  got  a  cough  again. 

^^  Can't  titiderstand  why  she  is  kept 

^^ At  your  expensed     Jane  Austen  wept. 

It  was  a  misdirected  wire, 

Her  husband  was  at  Shaitanpore. 

She  spread  her  anger,  hot  as  fire. 

Through  six  thin  foreign  sheets  or  more. 

Sent  off  that  letter,  wrote  another 

To  her  solicitor  —  and  mother. 

Then  Belial  MachiaveUi  saw 

Her  error  and,  I  trust,  his  o^vn, 
Wired  to  the  minion  of  the  Law, 

And  travelled  wifeward  —  not  alone  : 


86  THE   MARE'S   NEST 

For  Lilly — thirteen-two  and  bay — 
Came  in  a  horse-box  all  the  way. 

There  was  a  scene  —  a  weep  or  two 
With  many  kisses.     Austen  Jane 

Rode  Lilly  all  the  season  through, 
And  never  opened  wires  again. 

She  races  now  with  Belial.     This 

Is  very  sad,  but  so  it  is. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  FISHER'S  P.OARDING- 
HOUSE 

That  night  when  through  the  mooring  chains 
The  wide-eyed  corpse  roiled  free  ^ 

To  blunder  down  by  Garden  Reach 
And  rot  at  Kedgeree, 

Tne  tale  the  Hughli  told  the  shoal 
The  lean  shoal  whispered  me. 

'TwAS  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house, 

Where  sailor-men  reside, 
And  there  were  men  of  all  the  ports 

From  Mississip  to  Clyde, 
And  regally  they  spat  and  smoked, 

And  fearsomely  they  lied. 

They  lied  about  the  purple  Sea 
That  gave  them  scanty  bread. 

They  lied  about  the  Earth  beneath, 
The  Heavens  overhead, 

For  they  had  looked  too  often  on 
Black  rum  when  that  was  red. 
87 


88     BALLAD    OF   FISHER'S    BOARDING-HOUSE 

And  there  was  Hans  the  Blue-eyed  Dane, 

Bull-throated,  bare  of  arm, 
Who  carried  on  his  hairy  chest 

The  maid  Ultmda's  charm  — 
The  little  silver  crucifix 

That  keeps  a  man  from  harm. 

And  there  was  Jake  Without-the-Ears, 

And  Pamba  the  Malay, 
And  Carboy  Gin  the  Guinea  cook, 

And  Luz  from  Vigo  Bay, 
And  Honest  Jack  who  sold  them  slops 

And  harvested  their  pay. 

And  there  was  Salem  Hardieker, 

A  lean  Bostonian  he  — 
Russ,  German,  English,  Halfbreed,  Finn 

Yank,  Dane,  and  Portugee, 
At  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

They  rested  from  the  sea. 

Now  Anne  of  Austria  shared  their  drinks, 

Collinga  knew  her  fame. 
From  Tarnau  in  Galicia 

To  Jaun  Bazar  she  came, 


BALLAD   OF   FISHER'S    BOARDING-HOUSE     89 

To  eat  the  bread  of  infamy 
And  take  the  wage  of  shame. 

She  held  a  dozen  men  to  heel  — 

Rich  spoil  of  war  was  hers, 
In  hose  and  gown  and  ring  and  chain, 

From  twenty  mariners. 
And,  by  Port  Law,  that  week,  men  called 

Her  Salem  Hardieker's. 

But  seamen  learnt — what  landsmen  know — 

That  neither  gifts  nor  gain 
Can  hold  a  winking  Light  o'  Love 

Or  Fancy's  flight  restrain. 
When  Anne  of  Austria  rolled  her  eyes 

On  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane. 

Since  Life  is  strife,  and  strife  means  knife, 

From  Howrah  to  the  Bay, 
And  he  may  die  before  the  dawn 

Who  liquored  out  the  day. 
In  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

We  woo  while  yet  we  may. 

But  cold  was  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane, 
Bull-throated,  bare  of  arm. 


90     BALLAD   OF   FISHER'S    BOARDING-HOUSE 

And  laughter  shook  the  chest  beneath 

The  maid  Ultruda's  charm  — 
The  little  silver  crucifix 

That  keeps  a  man  from  harm. 

"  You  speak  to  Salem  Hardieker, 

"  You  was  his  girl,  I  know. 
"  I  ship  mineselfs  to-morrow,  see, 

"  Und  round  the  Skaw  we  go, 
"  South,  down  the  Cattegat,  by  Hjelm, 

"  To  Besser  in  Saro." 

When  love  rejected  turns  to  hate, 

All  ill  betide  the  man. 
"You  speak  to  Salem  Hardieker"  — 

She  spoke  as  woman  can. 
A  scream  —  a  sob  —  "  He  called  me  —  names  !  " 

And  then  the  fray  began. 

An  oath  from  Salem  Hardieker, 

A  shriek  upon  the  stairs, 
A  dance  of  shadows  on  the  wall, 

A  knife-thrust  unawares  — 
And  Hans  came  down,  as  cattle  drop, 

Across  the  broken  chairs. 


BALLAD   OF    FlSilER-S    DOAKDING-HOUSE     01 

In  Anne  of  Austria's  trembling  hands 

The  weary  head  fell  low  :  — 
"  I  ship  mineselfs  to-morrow,  straight 

"  For  Besser  in  Saro ; 
"  Und  there  Ultruda  comes  to  me 

"  At  Easter,  und  I  go 

"South,  down  the  Cattegat  —  What's  here? 

"  There  —  are  —  no  —  lights  —  to  —  guide  !  " 
The  mutter  ceased,  the  spirit  passed, 

And  Anne  of  Austria  cried 
In  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

When  Hans  the  mighty  died. 

Thus  slew  they  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane, 

Bull-throated,  bare  of  arm, 
But  Anne  of  Austria  looted  first 

The  maid  Ultruda's  charm  — 
The  little  silver  crucifix 

That  keeps  a  man  from  harm. 


POSSIBILITIES 

Ay,  lay  him  'neath  the  Simla  pine  — 
A  fortnight  fully  to  be  missed, 
Behold,  we  lose  our  fourth  at  whist, 

A  chair  is  vacant  where  we  dine. 

His  place  forgets  him  ;  other  men 

Have  bought  his  ponies,  guns,  and  traps. 
His  fortune  is  the  Great  Perhaps 

And  that  cool  rest-house  down  the  glen. 

Whence  he  shall  hear,  as  spirits  may. 
Our  mundane  revel  on  the  height, 
Shall  watch  each  flashing  ' rickshaw-\\^\. 

Sweep  on  to  dinner,  dance,  and  play. 

Benmore  shall  woo  him  to  the  ball 
With  lighted  rooms  and  braying  band  : 
And  he  shall  hear  and  understand 

"  Vreafft  Faces  "  better  than  us  all. 

For,  think  you,  as  the  vapours  flee 
Across  Sanjaolie  after  rain, 
92 


POSSIBILITIES  93 

His  soul  may  climb  the  hill  again 
To  each  old  field  of  victory. 

Unseen,  who  women  held  so  dear, 
The  strong  man's  yearning  to  his  kind 
Shall  shake  at  most  the  window-blind, 

Or  dull  awhile  the  card-room's  cheer. 

In  his  own  place  of  power  unknown, 
His  Light  o'  Love  another's  flame. 
His  dearest  pony  galloped  lame, 

And  he  an  alien  and  alone. 

Yet  may  he  meet  with  many  a  friend  — 
Shrewd  shadows,  lingering  long  unseen 
Among  us  when  "  God  save  the  Queen  " 

Shows  even  "extras  "  have  an  end. 

And,  when  we  leave  the  heated  room. 
And,  when  at  four  the  lights  expire. 
The  crew  shall  gather  round  the  fire 

And  mock  our  laughter  in  the  gloom. 

Talk  as  we  talked,  and  they  ere  death — 
First  wanly,  danced  in  ghostly  wise, 
With  ghosts  of  tunes  for  melodies, 

And  vanished  at  the  morning's  breath  ! 


ARITHMETIC   ON   THE   FRONTIER 

A  GREAT  and  glorious  thing  it  is 
To  learn,  for  seven  years  or  so, 

The  Lord  knows  what  of  that  and  this, 
Ere  reckoned  fit  to  face  the  foe  — 

The  flying  bullet  down  the  Pass, 

That  whistles  clear  : — "All  flesh  is  grass." 

Three  hundred  pounds  per  annum  spent 
On  making  brain  and  body  meeter 

For  all  the  murderous  intent 

Comprised  in  "villanous  saltpeter  1" 

And  after?  —  Ask  the  Yusufzaies 

What  comes  of  all  our  'ologies. 

A  scrimmage  in  a  Border  Station  — 
A  canter  down  some  dark  defile  — 

Two  thousand  pounds  of  education 
Drops  to  a  ten-vwi^eejezatV — 

The  Crammer's  boast,  the  Squadron's  pride, 

Shot  like  a  rabbit  in  a  ride  ! 
94 


ARITHMETIC   ON   THE    FRONTIER  95 

No  proposition  Euclid  wrote, 

No  formulce  the  text-books  know, 
Will  turn  the  bullet  from  your  coat, 

Or  ward  the  tulwar's  downward  blow. 
Strike  hard  who  cares  —  shoot  straight  who  can  — 
The  odds  are  on  the  cheaper  man. 

One  sword-knot  stolen  from  the  camp 
Will  pay  for  all  the  school-expenses 

Of  any  Kurrum  Valley  scamp 
Who  knows  no  word  of  moods  and  tenses, 

But,  being  blest  with  perfect  sight, 

Picks  off  our  messmates  left  and  right. 

With  home-bred  hordes  the  hill-sides  teem, 
The  troop-ships  bring  us  one  by  one. 

At  vast  expense  of  time  and  steam, 
To  slay  Afridis  where  they  run. 

The  "  captives  of  our  bow  and  spear  '* 

Are  cheap,  alas  !  as  we  are  dear. 


THE   SONG   OF  THE  WOMEN 

(Lady  Dufferin's  Fiend  for  Medical  Aid  to  the  Women 

of  India.) 

How  shall  she  know  the  worship  we  would  do  her? 

The  walls  are  high  and  she  is  very  far. 
How  shall  the  women's  message  reach  unto  her 
Above  the  tumult  of  the  packed  bazar? 

Free  wind  of  March,  against  the  lattice  blowing, 
Bear  thou  our  thanks  lest  she  depart  unknowing. 

Go  forth  across  the  fields  we  may  not  roam  in, 
Go  forth  beyond  the  trees  that  rim  the  city 
To  whatsoe'er  fair  place  she  hath  her  home  in, 
Who  dowered  us  with  wealth  of  love  and  pity. 
Out  of  our  shadow  pass  and  seek  her  singing  — 
"  I  have  no  gifts  but  Love  alone  for  bringing." 

Say  that  we  be  a  feeble  folk  who  greet  her. 
But  old  in  grief,  and  very  wise  in  tears ; 

Say  that  we,  being  desolate,  entreat  her 
That  she  forget  us  not  in  after  years ; 

96 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   WOMEN  97 

For  we  have  seen  the  Hght,  and  it  were  grievous 
To  dim  that  dawning  if  our  lady  leave  us. 

By  life  that  ebbed  with  none  to  staunch  the  failing, 

By  Love's  sad  harvest  garnered  in  the  spring, 
When  Love  in  Ignorance  wept  unavailing 

O'er  young  buds  dead  before  their  blossoming; 
By   all   the   gray  owl   watched,  the  pale    moon 

viewed, 
In  past  grim  years  declare  our  gratitude  ! 

By  hands  upHfted  to  the  Gods  that  heard  not, 
By  gifts  that  found  no  favour  in  Their  sight. 
By  faces  bent  above  the  babe  that  stirred  not, 
By  nameless  horrors  of  the  stifling  night ; 
By  ills  foredone,  by  peace  her  toils  discover. 
Bid  Earth  be  good  beneath  and  Heaven  above 
her! 

If  she  have  sent  her  servants  in  our  pain, 

If  she  have  fought  with  Death  and  dulled  his  sword  ; 
If  she  have  given  back  our  sick  again, 

And  to  the  breast  the  weakling  lips  restored. 
Is  it  a  little  thing  that  she  has  wrought? 
Then  Life  and  Death  and  Motherhood  be  naught. 


98  THE   SONG   OF   THE   WOMEN 

Go  forth,  O  wind,  our  message  on  thy  wings, 

And  they  shall  hear  thee  pass  and  bid  thee  speed. 
In  reed-roofed  hut,  or  white-walled  home  of  kings. 
Who  have  been  holpen  by  her  in  their  need. 

All  spring  shall  give  thee  fragrance,  and  the  wheat 
Shall  be  a  tasselled  floorcloth  to  thy  feet. 

Haste,  for  our  hearts  are  with  thee,  take  no  rest ! 

Loud-voiced  ambassador,  from  sea  to  sea 
Proclaim  the  blessing,  manifold,  confest, 
Of  those  in  darkness  by  her  hand  set  free, 
Then  very  softly  to  her  presence  move, 
And  whisper  :  "  Lady,  lo,  they  know  and  love  !  " 


THE   BETROTHED 

"You  imist  choose  between  vie  and  your  agar." 

Open  the  old  cigar-box,  get  me  a  Cuba  stout, 
For  things  are  running  crossways,  and  Maggie  and  I 
are  out. 

We  quarrelled  about  Havanas — we  fought  o'er  a  good 

cheroot, 
And  I  know  she  is  exacting,  and  she  says  I  am  a 

brute. 

Open  the  old  cigar-box — let  me  consider  a  space ; 
In  the  soft  blue  veil  of  the  vapour  musing  on  Maggie's 
face. 

Maggie  is  pretty  to  look  at  —  Maggie's  a  loving  lass. 
But  the  prettiest  cheeks  must  wrinkle,  the  truest  of 
loves  must  pass. 

There's  peace  in  a  Laranaga,  there's  calm  in  a  Henry 

Clay, 
But  the  best  cigar  in  an  hour  is  finished  and  thrown 

away — 

99 


100  THE   BETROTHED 

Thrown  away  for  another  as  perfect  and  ripe   and 

brown  — 
But  I  could  not  throw  away  Maggie  for  fear  o'  the 

talk  o'  the  town  ! 

Maggie,  my  wife  at  fifty — gray  and  dour  and  old  — 
With  never  another  Maggie  to  purchase  for  love  or 
gold! 

And  the  light  of  Days  that  have  Been  the  dark  of  the 

Days  that  Are, 
And  Love's  torch  stinking  and  stale,  like  the  butt  of 

a  dead  cigar  — 

The  butt  of  a  dead  cigar  you  are  bound  to  keep  in 

your  pocket  — 
With  never  a  new  one  to  light  tho'  it's  charred  and 

black  to  the  socket. 

Open  the  old  cigar- box  —  let  me  consider  awhile  — 
Here  is  a  mild  Manilla  —  there  is  a  wifely  smile. 

Which  is  the  better  portion  —  bondage  bought  with  a 

ring, 
Or  a  harem  of  dusky  beauties  fifty  tied  in  a  string? 


THE    BETROTHED  101 

Counsellors  cunning  and  silent  —  comforters  true  and 

tried, 
And  never  a  one  of  the  fifty  to  sneer  at  a  rival  bride. 

Thought  in  the  early  morning,  solace  in  time  of  woes, 
Peace  in  the  hush  of  the  twilight,  balm  ere  my  eyelids 
close. 

This  will  the  fifty  give  me,  asking  naught  in  return, 
With  only  a  Suttee's  passion  —  to  do  their  duty  and 
burn. 

This  will  the  fifty  give  me.     When  they  are  spent  and 

dead. 
Five  times  other  fifties  shall  be  my  servants  instead. 

The  furrows  of  far-off  Java,  the  isles  of  the  Spanish 

Main, 
When  they  hear  my  harem  is  empty,  will  send  me  my 

brides  again. 

I  will  take  no  heed  to  their  raiment,  nor  food  for  their 

mouths  withal. 
So  long  as  the  gulls  are  nesting,  so  long  as  the  showers 

fall. 


102  THE    BETROTHED 

I  will  scent   'em   with   best  Vanilla,  with  tea  will  I 

temper  their  hides, 
And  the  Moor  and  the  Mormon  shall  envy  who  read 

of  the  tale  of  my  brides. 

For  Maggie  has  written  a  letter  that  gives  me  my 

choice  between 
The  wee  little  whimpering  Love  and  the  great  god 

Nick  o'  Teen. 

And  I  have  been  servant  of  Love  for  barely  a  twelve- 
month clear, 

But  I  have  been  Priest  of  Partagas  a  matter  of  seven 
year; 

And  the  gloom  of  my  bachelor  days  is  flecked  with  the 

cheery  light 
Of  stumps  that  I  burned  to  Friendship  and  Pleasure 

and  Work  and  Fight. 

And  I  turn  my  eyes  to  the  future  that  Maggie  and  I 

must  prove. 
But  the  only  hght  on  the  marshes  is  the  Will-o'-the- 

Wisp  of  Love. 


THE    BETROTHED  103 

Will  it  see  me  safe  through  my  journey  or  leave  me 

bogged  in  the  mire  ? 
Since  a  puff  of  tobacco  can  cloud  it,  shall  I  follow  the 

fitful  fire? 

Open  the  old  cigar-box  —  let  me  consider  anew  — 
Old  friends,  and  who  is  Maggie  that  I  should  abandon 
you? 

A  million  surplus  Maggies  are  willing  to  bear  the  yoke  ; 
And  a  woman  is  only  a  woman,  but  a  good  cigar  is  a 
Smoke. 

Light  me   another  Cuba  —  I  hold  to  my  first-sworn 

vows, 
If  Maggie  will  have  no  rival,  I'll  have  no  Maggie  for 

spouse  ! 


A  BALLADE   OF  JAKKO   HILL 

One  moment  bid  the  horses  wait, 

Since  tiffin  is  not  laid  till  three, 
Below  the  upward  path  and  strait 

You  climbed  a  year  ago  with  me. 
Love  came  upon  us  suddenly 

And  loosed  —  an  idle  hour  to  kill  — 
A  headless,  harmless  armoury 

That  smote  us  both  on  Jakko  Hill. 

Ah  Heaven  !  we  would  wait  and  wait 

Through  Time  and  to  Eternity  ! 
Ah  Heaven  !  we  would  conquer  Fate 

With  more  than  Godlike  constancy  ! 
I  cut  the  date  upon  a  tree  — 

Here  stand  the  clumsy  figures  still :  - 
"10-7-85,  A.D." 

Damp  with  the  mist  on  Jakko  Hill. 

What  came  of  high  resolve  and  great, 
And  until  Death  fidelity  ? 
104 


A    BALLADE   OF   JAKKO    HILL  105 

Whose  horse  is  waiting  at  your  gate  ? 

Whose  ' rtckshaw-whteXs  ride  over  me? 
No  Saint's,  I  swear  ;  and  —  let  me  see 

To-night  what  names  your  programme  fill  — 
We  drift  asunder  merrily, 

As  drifts  the  mist  on  Jakko  Hill ! 

L'envoi 

Woman,  behold  our  ancient  state 

Has  clean  departed ;  and  we  see 
'Twas  Idleness  we  took  for  Fate 

That  bound  light  bonds  on  you  and  me. 
Amen  !    Here  ends  the  comedy 

Where  it  began  in  all  good  will, 
Since  Love  and  Leave  together  flee 

As  driven  mist  on  Jakko  Hill ! 


THE   PLEA   OF  THE   SIMLA   DANCERS 

Too  late,  alas  I  the  song 
To  remedy  the  wrong;  — 
TTie  rooms  are  taken  front  ns,  swept  a?id  garnished  for 
their  fate 
But  these  tear-besprinkled  pages 
Shall  attest  to  future  ages 
That  tve  cried  against  the  crime  of  it —  too  late,  alas! 
too  late! 

"What  have  we  ever  done  to  bear  this  grudge?" 

Was  there  no  room  save  only  in  Benmore 
For  docket,  duftar^  and  for  office  drudge, 

That  you  usurp  our  smoothest  dancing  floor  ? 
Must  babus  do  their  work  on  polished  teak  ? 

Are  ball-rooms  fittest  for  the  ink  you  spill  ? 
Was  there  no  other  cheaper  house  to  seek? 

You  might  have  left  them  all  at  Strawberry  Hill. 

We  never  harmed  you  !     Innocent  our  guise, 
Dainty  our  shining  feet,  our  voices  low ; 

100 


THE   PLEA    OF   THE   SIMLA    DANCERS     107 

And  we  revolved  to  divers  melodies, 

And  we  were  happy  but  a  year  ago. 
To-night  the  moon  that  watched  our  Hghtsome  wiles  — 

That  beamed  upon  us  through  the  deodars  — 
Is  wan  with  gazing  on  official  files, 

And  desecrating  desks  disgust  the  stars. 

Nay  !  by  the  memory  of  tuneful  nights  — 

Nay  !  by  the  witchery  of  flying  feet  — 
Nay  !  by  the  glamour  of  foredone  delights  — 

By  all  things  merry,  musical,  and  meet  — 
By  wine  that  sparkled,  and  by  sparkling  eyes  — 

By  wailing  waltz  —  by  reckless  gallop's  strain  — 
By  dim  verandahs  and  by  soft  replies, 

Give  us  our  ravished  ball-room  back  again  ! 


Or  —  hearken  to  the  curse  we  lay  on  you  ! 

The  ghosts  of  waltzes  shall  perplex  your  brain, 
And  murmurs  of  past  merriment  pursue 

Your  'wildered  clerks  that  they  indite  in  vain ; 
And  when  you  count  your  poor  Provincial  milhons. 

The  only  figures  that  your  pen  shall  frame 
Shall  be  the  figures  of  dear,  dear  cotillons 

Danced  out  in  tumult  long  before  you  came. 


108     THE    PLEA    OF   THE    SIMLA   DANCERS 

Yea  !  " See  Saw''  shall  upset  your  estimates, 

"  Dreajn-faces  "  shall  your  heavy  heads  bemuse. 
Because  your  hand,  unheeding,  desecrates 

Our  temple  ;  fit  for  higher,  worthier  use. 
And  all  the  long  verandahs,  eloquent 

With  echoes  of  a  score  of  Simla  years. 
Shall  plague  you  with  unbidden  sentiment  — 

Babbling  of  kisses,  laughter,  love,  and  tears. 

So  shall  you  mazed  amid  old  memories  stand. 

So  shall  you  toil,  and  shall  accomplish  naught. 
And  ever  in  your  ears  a  phantom  Band 

Shall  blare  away  the  staid  official  thought. 
Wherefore  —  and  ere  this  awful  curse  be  spoken, 

Cast  out  your  swarthy,  sacrilegious  train, 
And  give  —  ere  dancing  cease  and  hearts  be  broken  • 

Give  us  our  ravished  ball-room  back  again  ! 


"AS  THE   BELL   CLINKS" 

As  I   left  the  Halls  at  Lumley,  rose  the  vision  of  a 

comely 
Maid  last  season  worshipped  dumbly,  watched  with 

fervour  from  afar ; 
And  I  wondered  idly,  blindly,  if  the  maid  would  greet 

me  kindly. 
That  was  all  —  the  rest  was  settled  by  the  clinking 

tonga-bar. 
Ay,  my  life   and   hers  were   coupled   by  the   tonga 

coupling  bar. 

For  my  misty  meditation,  at  the  second  changing- 
station, 

Suffered  sudden  dislocation,  fled  before  the  tuneless 
jar 

Of  a  Wagner  ohbligato,  scherzo,  double-hand  staccato, 

Played  on  either  pony's  saddle  by  the  clacking  tonga- 
bar — 

Played  with  human  speech,  I  fancied,  by  the  jigging, 
jolting  bar. 

109 


no  "AS   THE   BELL  CLINKS" 

"  She  was  sweet,"  thought  I,  "  last  season,  but  'twere 

surely  wild  unreason 
"  Such  a  tiny  hope  to  freeze  on  as  was  offered  by  my 

Star, 
"  When  she  whispered,  something  sadly  :  —  'I  —  we 

feel  your  going  badly?'  " 
"  And  you  let  the  chance  escape  you?''  rapped  the 

rattling  tonga-bar. 
"  What  a  chance  and  what  an  idiot!'"  choked  the 

vicious  tonga-bar. 

Heart  of  man  —  Oh  heart  of  putty  !  Had  I  gone  by 
Kakahutti, 

On  the  old  Hill-road  and  rutty,  I  had  'scaped  that 
fatal  car : 

But  his  fortune  each  must  bide  by,  so  I  watched  the 
milestones  shde  by. 

To  —  "  You  call  on  Her  to-morrow  .^  "  —  fugue  with 
cymbals  by  the  bar  — 

"  You  must  call  on  Her  to-morrow  !  "  —  post- horn  gal- 
lop by  the  bar. 

Yet  a  further  stage   my  goal  on  —  we  were  whirling 

down  to  Solon, 
With  a  double  lurch  and  roll  on,  best  foot  foremost, 

ganz  und  gar  — 


"AS   THE    BELL   CLINKS"  111 

"  She  was  very  sweet,"  I  hinted.     "  If  a  kiss  had  been 

imprinted ?" 

^^  Would  ha'  saved  a  world  of  trouble  T'  clashed  the 

busy  tonga- bar. 
*^'Bcen  accepted  or  rejected  f'  banged    and    clanged 

the  tonga-bar. 

Then  a  notion  wild  and  daring,  'spite  the  income  tax's 
paring 

And  a  hasty  thought  of  sharing  —  less  than  many  in- 
comes are 

Made  me  put  a  question  private,  you  can  guess  what  I 
would  drive  at. 

"  You  must  work  the  sum  to  prove  it,''  clanked  the 
careless  tonga- bar. 

^^  Simple  Rule  of  Two  will  prove  it^'  lilted  back  the 
tonga-bar. 

It  was  under   Khyraghaut   I   mused  :  —  Suppose  the 

maid  be  haughty  — 
"  [There   are    lovers    rich  —  and   forty]    wait   some 

wealthy  Avatar? 
"Answer,  monitor  untiring,   'twixt  the  ponies   twain 

perspiring  1" 


112  "AS   THE   BELL   CLINKS" 

"  Faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady,''   creaked    the 

straining  tonga-bar. 
"  Can  I  tell  you  ere  you  ask  Her?''  pounded  slow  the 

tonga- bar. 

Last,  the  Tara  Devi  turning  showed  the  hghts  of  Simla 

burning, 
Lit  my  little  lazy  yearning  to  a  fiercer  flame  by  far. 
As  below  the  Mall  we  jingled,  through  my  very  heart 

it  tingled  — 
The  reiterated  order  of  the  threshing  tonga-bar  :  — 
"  Try  your  luck — you  can't  do  better  !"  twanged  the 

loosened  tonga-bar. 


CHRISTMAS   IN   INDIA 

Dim  dawn  behind  the  tamarisks  —  the  sky  is  saffron- 
yellow  — 
As  the  women  in  the  village  grind  the  corn, 
And  the  parrots  seek  the  river-side,  each  calling  to 
his  fellow 
That  the  Day,  the  staring  Eastern  Day,  is  born. 
Oh  the  white  dust  on  the  highway!      Oh  the 
stenches  in  the  byway ! 
Oh  the  clammy  fog  that  hovers  over  earth ! 
And  at  Home  they're  making  merry  'neath  the 
white  and  scarlet  berry  — 
What  part  have  India's  exiles  in  their  mirth? 

Full  day  behind  the  tamarisks  —  the  sky  is  blue  and 
staring  — 
As  the  cattle  crawl  afield  beneath  the  yoke. 
And  they  bear  One  o'er  the  field-path  who  is  past  all 
hope  or  caring. 
To  the  ghat  below  the  curling  wreaths  of  smoke. 

113 


114  CHRISTMAS   IN   INDIA 

Call  on  Rama,  going  slowly,  as  ye  bear  a  brother 
lowly  — 
Call  on  Rama  —  he  may  hear,  perhaps,  your 
voice ! 
With  our  hymnbooks  and  our  psalters  we  appeal 
to  other  altars. 
And   to-day   we    bid    "good   Christian    men 
rejoice ! " 

High   noon   behind  the  tamarisks  —  the  sun  is  hot 
above  us  — 
As  at  Home  the  Christmas  Day  is  breaking  wan. 
They  will  drink  our  healths  at  dinner  —  those  who 
tell  us  how  they  love  us, 
And  forget  us  till  another  year  be  gone ! 

Oh  the  toil  that  knows  no  breaking!     Oh  the 
heUnweh,  ceaseless,  aching! 
Oh  the  black  dividing  Sea  and  alien  Plain! 
Youth  was  cheap  —  wherefore  we  sold  it. 
Gold  was  good  —  we  hoped  to  hold  it. 
And  to-day  we  know  the  fulness  of  our  gain. 

(}ray   dusk   behind   the    tamarisks  —  the  parrots  fly 
together  — 
As  the  Sun  is  sinking  slowly  over  Home; 


CHRISTMAS    IN    INDIA  116 

And  his  last  ray  turns  to  jeer  us  shackled  in  a  life- 
long tether 
That  drags  us  back  howe'er  so  far  we  roam. 

Hard   her   service,  poor  her  payment  —  she  in 

ancient,  tattered  raiment  — 

India,  she  the  grim  stepmother  of  our  kind. 

If  a  year  of  life  be  lent  her,   if    her  temple's 

shrine  we  enter, 

The  door  is  shut  —  we  may  not  look  behind. 

Black  night  behind  the  tamarisks  —  the  owls  begin 
their  chorus  — 
As  the  conches  from  the  temple  scream  and  bray. 
With  the  fruitless  years  behind  us  and  the  hopeless 
years  before  us. 
Let  us  honour,  oh  my  brothers,  Christmas  Day ! 
Call  a  truce,  then,  to  our  labours  —  let  us  feast 
with  friends  and  neighbours. 
And  be  merry  as  the  custom  of  our  caste; 
For,  if  "faint  and  forced  the  laughter,"  and  if 
sadness  follow  after. 
We  are  richer  by  one  mocking  Christmas  past. 


THE  GRAVE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  HEAD 

THERE'' S  a  widow  in  sleepy  Chester 

Who  weeps  for  her  otily  soji ; 
There^s  a  grave  on  the  Fabejtg  River, 

A  grave  that  the  Burmans  shu7i. 
And  there^s  Siibadar  Prag  Tewarri 

Who  tells  how  the  work  was  done. 

A  Snider  squibbed  in  the  jungle  — 

Somebody  laughed  and  fled, 
And  the  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Picked  up  their  Subaltern  dead, 
With  a  big  blue  mark  in  his  forehead 

And  the  back  blown  out  of  his  head. 

Subadar  Prag  Tewarri, 

Jemadar  Hira  Lai, 
Took  command  of  the  party, 

Twenty  rifles  in  all, 
Marched  them  down  to  the  river 

As  the  day  was  beginning  to  fall. 
116 


THE  GRAVE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  HEAD  117 

They  buried  the  boy  by  the  river, 

A  blanket  over  his  face  — 
They  wept  for  their  dead  Lieutenant, 

The  men  of  an  alien  race  — 
They  made  a  sairiddh  in  his  honour, 

A  mark  for  his  resting-place. 

P'or  they  swore  by  the  Holy  Water, 

They  swore  by  the  salt  they  ate, 
That  the  soul  of  Lieutenant  Eshmitt  Sahib 

Should  go  to  his  God  in  state; 
With  fifty  file  of  Burman 

To  open  him  Heaven's  gate. 

The  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Marched  till  the  break  of  day. 
Till  they  came  to  the  rebel  village. 

The  village  of  Pabengmay  — 
A  Jingal  covtxtA  the  clearing, 

Calthrops  hampered  the  way. 

Subadar  Prag  Tewarri, 

Bidding  them  load  with  ball, 
Halted  a  dozen  rifles 

Under  the  village-wall; 


118  THE  GRAVE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  HEAD 

Sent  out  a  flanking-party 
With  Jemadar  Hira  Lai. 

The  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Shouted  and  smote  and  slew, 
Turning  the  grinningyT^^-^/ 

On  to  the  howling  crew. 
The  Jemadar's  flanking-party 

Butchered  the  folk  who  flew. 

Long  was  the  morn  of  slaughter, 

Long  was  the  list  of  slain, 
Five  score  heads  were  taken 

Five  score  heads  and  twain ; 
And  the  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Went  back  to  their  grave  again; 

Each  man  bearing  a  basket 

Red  as  his  palms  that  day. 
Red  as  the  blazing  village  — 

The  village  of  Pabengmay. 
And  the  ^^ drip-drip-drip''  from  the  baskets 

Reddened  the  grass  by  the  way. 

They  made  a  pile  of  their  trophies 
High  as  a  tall  man's  chin, 


THE  GRAVE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  HEAD  119 

Head  upon  head  distorted, 

Clinched  in  a  sightless  grin, 
Anger  and  pain  and  terror 

Writ  on  the  smoke-scorched  skin. 

Subadar  Prag  Tewarri 

Set  the  head  of  the  Boh 
On  the  top  of  the  mound  of  triumph 

The  head  of  his  son  below, 
With  the  sword  and  the  peacock-banner 

That  the  world  might  behold  and  know. 

Thus  the  saviddh  was  perfect, 

Thus  was  the  lesson  plain 
Of  the  wrath  of  the  First  Shikaris  — 

The  price  of  a  white  man  slain; 
And  the  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Went  back  into  camp  again. 

Then  a  silence  came  to  the  river, 

A  hush  fell  over  the  shore. 
And  Bohs  that  were  brave  departed, 
And  Sniders  squibbed  no  more; 
For  the  Burmans  said 
That  a  kullaJi's  head 
Must  be  paid  for  with  heads  five  score. 


120  THE  GRAVE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  HEAD 

There'' s  a  widow  in  sleepy  Chester 

Who  weeps  for  her  only  son  ; 
There^s  a  grave  on  the  Pabeng  River, 

A  grave  that  the  Burmans  shunt 
And  there"* s  Subadar  Frag  Tewarri 

Who  tells  how  the  work  was  done. 


AN   OLD  SONG 

So  long  as  'neath  the  Kalka  hills 

The  tonga-horn  shall  ring, 
So  long  as  down  the  Solon  dip 

The  hard-held  ponies  swing; 
So  long  as  Tara  Devi  sees 

The  lights  o'  Simla  town, 
So  long  as  Pleasure  calls  us  up, 

And  duty  drives  us  down, 
If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you 
What  pair  so  happy  as  we  two  ? 

So  long  as  Aces  take  the  King, 

Or  backers  take  the  bet. 
So  long  as  debt  leads  men  to  wed; 

Or  marriage  leads  to  debt; 
So  long  as  little  luncheons,  Love, 
And  scandal  hold  their  vogue. 
While  there  is  sport  at  Annandale 
Or  whiskey  at  Jutogh, 

If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you 
What  knife  can  cut  our  love  in  tivo  ? 
121 


122  AN   OLD   SONG 

So  long  as  down  the  rocking  floor 

The  raving  polka  spins, 
So  long  as  Kitchen  Lancers  spur 

The  maddened  violins; 
So  long  as  through  the  whirling  smoke 

We  hear  the  oft-told  tale :  — 
"Twelve  hundred  in  the  Lotteries," 

And  Whaishername  for  sale? 
If  you  love  me  as  Hove  you 
We^ II play  the  game  and  win  it  loo. 

So  long  as  Lust  or  Lucre  tempt 

Straight  riders  from  the  course, 
So  long  as  with  each  drink  we  pour 

Black  brewage  of  Remorse; 
So  long  as  those  unloaded  guns 

We  keep  beside  the  bed, 
Blow  off,  by  obvious  accident, 

The  lucky  owner's  head. 
If  you  love  7ne  as  I  love  you 
What  can  Life  kill  or  Death  undo  7 

So  long  as  Death  'twixt  dance  and  dance 
Chills  best  and  bravest  blood 


AN   OLD   SONG  123 

And  drops  the  reckless  rider  down 

The  rotten,  rain-soaked  khiid ; 
So  long  as  rumours  from  the  North 

Make  loving  wives  afraid, 
So  long  as  Burma  claims  the  boy, 
And  typhoid  kills  the  maid. 
If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you. 
What  knife  can  cut  our  love  in  two  ? 

By  all  that  lights  our  daily  life 

Or  works  our  lifelong  woe, 
From  Boileaugunge  to  Simla  Downs 

And  those  grim  glades  below, 
Where  heedless  of  the  flying  hoof 

And  clamour  overhead. 
Sleep,  with  the  gray  langur  for  guard 

Our  very  scornful  Dead, 
If  you  love  ?ne  as  I  love  you 
All  Earth  is  servant  to  us  tzvo  / 


By  Docket,  Billetdoux,  and  File, 
By  Mountain,  Cliff,  and  Fir, 

By  Fan  and  Sword  and  Office-box, 
By  Corset,  Plume,  and  Spur; 


124  AN   OLD   SONG 

By  Riot,  Revel,  Waltz,  and  War, 

By  Woman,  Work,  and  Bills, 
By  all  the  life  that  fizzes  in 
The  everlasting  Hills, 

If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you 
What  pair  so  happy  as  we  two  ? 


CERTAIN   MAXIMS   OF   HAFIZ 

I 

If  It  be  pleasant  to  look  on,  stalled  in  the  packed 

seraiy 
Does  not  the  Young  Man  try  Its  temper  and  pace  ere 

he  buy? 
If  She  be  pleasant  to  look  on,  what  does  the  Young 

Man  say? 
"  Lo  !   She  is  pleasant  to  look  on,  give  Her  to  me 

to-day ! " 

2 

Yea,  though  a  Kafir  die,  to  him  is  remitted  Jehannum 
If  he  borrowed  in  Hfe  from  a  native  at  sixty  per  cent, 
per  annum. 

3 

Blister  we  not  for  bursati?     So  when  the  heart  is  vext, 
The  pain  of  one  maiden's  refusal  is  drowned  in  the 
pain  of  the  next. 

126 


126  CERTAIN   MAXIMS   OF   HAFIZ 

4 
The  temper  of  chums,  the  love  of  your  wife,  and  a 

new  piano's  tune  — 
Which  of  the  three  will  you  trust  at  the  end  of  an 
Indian  June? 

5 
Who  are  the  rulers  of  Ind —  to  whom  shall  we  bow 

the  knee? 
Make  your  peace  with  the  women,  and  men  will  make 
you  L.  G. 

6 

Does  the  woodpecker  flit  round  the  young  ferash  ? 

Does  grass  clothe  a  new-built  wall? 
Is  she  under  thirty  the  woman  who  holds  a  boy  in  her 

thrall? 

7 
If  She  grows  suddenly  gracious  —  reflect.     Is  it  all  for 

thee? 

The  blackbuck  is  stalked  through  the  bullock,  and 

Man  through  jealousy. 

8 

Seek  not  for  favour  of  women.  So  shall  you  find  it 
indeed. 

Does  not  the  boar  break  cover  just  when  you're  light- 
ing a  weed? 


CERTAIN   MAXIMS   OF   HAFIZ  127 

9 

If  He  play,  being  young  and  unskilful,  for  shekels  of 

silver  and  gold, 
Take  His  money,  my  son,  praising  Allah.     The  kid 

was  ordained  to  be  sold. 

lO 

With  a  "  weed  "  among  men  or  horses  verily  this  is  the 

best, 
That  you  work  him  in  office  or  dog-cart  lightly  —  but 

give  him  no  rest. 

II 

Pleasant  the  snaffle  of  Courtship,  improving  the  man- 
ners and  carriage, 

But  the  colt  who  is  wise  will  abstain  from  the  terrible 
thorn-bit  of  Marriage ; 

12 

As  the  thriftless  gold  of  the  babul  so  is  the  gold  that 

we  spend 
On  a  Derby  Sweep,  or  our  neighbour's  wife,  or  the 

horse  that  we  buy  from  a  friend. 


128  CERTAIN   MAXIMS   OF   HAFIZ 

13 

The  ways  of  man  with  a  maid  be  strange,  yet  simple 

and  tame 
To  the  ways  of  a  man  with  a  horse,  when  selling  or 

racing  that  same. 

V 

14 

In  public  Her  face  turneth  to  thee,  and  pleasant  Her 

smile  when  ye  meet. 
It  is  ill.     The  cold  rocks  of  El-Gidar  smile  thus  on 

the  waves  at  their  feet. 
In  public  Her  face  is  averted,  with  anger  She  nameth 

thy  name. 
It  is  well.     Was  there  ever  a  loser  content  with  the 

loss  of  the  game  ? 

15 
If  She  have  spoken  a  word,  remember  thy  lips  are 

sealed, 
And  the  Brand  of  the  Dog  is  upon  him  by  whom  is 

the  secret  revealed. 
If  She  have  written  a  letter,  delay  not  an  iiibtant  but 

burn  it. 
Tear  it  in  pieces,  O  Fool,  and  the  wind  to  her  mate 

shall  return  it ! 


CERTAIN    MAXIMS   OF    HAFIZ  12!) 

If  there  be  trouble  to  Herward,  and   a   lie  of   the 

blackest  can  clear, 
Lie,  while  thy  lips  can  move  or  a  man  is  ahve  to  hear. 

i6 

My  Son,  if  a  maiden  deny  thee  and  scufflingly  bid  thee 

give  o'er. 
Yet  lip  meets  with  lip  at  the  lastward —  get  out !    She 

has  been  there  before. 
They  are  pecked  on  the  ear  and  the  chin  and  the 

nose  who  are  lacking  in  lore. 

17 
If  we  fall  in  the  race,  though  we  win,  the  hoof- slide  is 

scarred  on  the  course. 
Though  Allah  and  Earth  pardon  Sin,  remaineth  for 

ever  Remorse. 

18 

"  By  all  I  am  misunderstood  !  "    if  the  Matron  shall 

say,  or  the  Maid  :  — 
"  Alas  !  I  do  not  understand,"  my  son,  be  thou  nowise 

afraid. 
In  vain  in  the  sight  of  the  Bird  is  the  net  of  the 

Fowler  displayed. 


130  CERTAIN    MAXIMS   OF   HAFIZ 

19 

My  son,  if  I,  Hafiz,  thy  father,  take  hold  of  thy  knees 

in  my  pain, 
Demanding  thy  name  on  stamped  paper,  one  day  or 

one  hour  —  refrain. 
Are  the  links  of  thy  fetters  so  light  that  thou  cravest 

another  man's  chain? 


THE   MOON   OF   OTHER   DAYS 

Beneath  the  deep  verandah's  shade, 

When  bats  begin  to  fly, 
I  sit  me  down  and  watch  —  alas 

Another  evening  die. 
Blood-red  behind  the  seieferask 

She  rises  through  the  haze. 
Sainted  Diana !  can  that  be 

The  Moon  of  Other  Days? 

Ah !  shade  of  little  Kitty  Smith, 

Sweet  Saint  of  Kensington ! 
Say,  was  it  ever  thus  at  Home 

The  Moon  of  August  shone, 
When  arm  in  arm  we  wandered  long 

Through  Putney's  evening  haze, 
And  Hammersmith  was  Heaven  beneath 

The  Moon  of  Other  Days? 

But  Wandle's  stream  is  Sutlej  now, 
And  Putney's  evening  haze 
131 


132  THE    MOON   OF   OTHER   DAYS 

The  dust  that  half  a  hundred  kine 

Before  my  window  raise. 
Unkempt,  unclean,  athwart  the  mist 

The  seething  city  looms, 
In  place  of  Putney's  golden  gorse 

The  sickly /^<3;^/// blooms. 

Glare  down,  old  Hecate,  through  the  dust 

And  bid  the  pie-dog  yell. 
Draw  from  the  drain  its  typhoid  germ, 

From  each  bazar  its  smell; 
Yea,  suck  the  fever  from  the  tank 

And  sap  my  strength  therewith : 
Thank  Heaven,  you  show  a  smiling  face 

To  little  Kitty  Smith ! 


THE   FALL   OF   JOCK  GILLESPIE 

This  fell  when  dinner-time  was  done  — 
'Twixt  the  first  an'  the  second  rub  — 

That  oor  mon  Jock  cam'  hame  again 
To  his  rooms  ahint  the  Club. 

An'  syne  he  laughed,  an'  syne  he  sang, 

An'  syne  we  thocht  him  fou. 
An'  syne  he  trumped  his  partner's  trick, 

An'  garred  his  partner  rue. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  elder  mon, 

That  held  the  Spade  its  Ace  — 
"  God  save  the  lad !     Whence  comes  the  licht 

"That  wimples  on  his  face?  " 

An'  Jock  he  sniggered,  an'  Jock  he  smiled, 
An'  ower  the  card-brim  wunk :  — 

"I'm  a'  too  fresh  fra'  the  stirrup-peg, 
"May  be  that  I  am  drunk." 
133 


134  THE   FALL   OF   JOCK    GILLESPIE 

"There's  whusky  brewed  in  Galashiels, 

"An'  L.  L.  L.  forbye; 
"  But  never  liquor  lit  the  low  „ 

"  That  keeks  fra'  oot  your  eye. 

"There's  a  thrid  o'  hair  on  your  dress-coat  breast, 

"  Aboon  the  heart  a  wee?  " 
"  Oh !  that  is  fra'  the  lang-haired  Skye 

"That  slobbers  ower  me." 

"Oh!  lang-haired  Skyes  are  lovin'  beasts, 

"An'  terrier  dogs  are  fair, 
"  But  never  yet  was  terrier  born, 

"Wi'  ell-lang  gowden  hair! 

"There's  a  smirch  o'  pouther  on  your  breast, 

"Below  the  left  lappel?" 
"Oh!  that  is  fra'  my  auld  cigar, 

"Whenas  the  stump-end  fell." 

"Mon  Jock,  ye  smoke  the  Trichi  coarse, 

"  For  ye  are  short  o'  cash. 
"An'  best  Havannahs  couldna  leave, 

"Sae  white  an'  pure  an  ash. 


THE   FALL  OP^  JOCK   GILLPISPIE  135 

"This  nicht  ye  stopped  a  story  braid, 

"An'  stopped  it  wi'  a  curse  — 
"Last  nicht  ye  told  that  tale  yoursel, 

"An'  capped  it  wi'  a  worse! 

"Oh!  we're  no  fou!     Oh!  we're  no  fou! 

"  But  plainly  we  can  ken 
"Ye're  fallin',  fallin',  fra'  the  band 

"O'  cantie  single  men!" 

An'  it  fell  when  strris-sha.ws  were  sere, 
An'  the  nichts  were  lang  and  mirk, 

In  braw  new  breeks,  wi'  a  gowden  ring, 
Oor  Jockie  gaed  to  the  Kirk. 


WHAT  THE   PEOPLE   SAID        ' 

[June  2ist,   1887] 

By  the  well,  where  the  bullocks  go 

Silent  and  blind  and  slow  — 

By  the  field,  where  the  young  corn  dies 

In  the  face  of  the  sultry  skies, 

They  have  heard,  as  the  dull  Earth  hears 

The  voice  of  the  wind  of  an  hour, 

The  sound  of  the  Great  Queen's  voice:  — 

"  My  God  hath  given  me  years, 

"Hath  granted  dominion  and  power: 

"And  I  bid  you,  O  Land,  rejoice." 

And  the  Ploughman  settles  the  share 
More  deep  in  the  grudging  clod; 
For  he  saith :  —  "The  wheat  is  my  care, 
"  And  the  rest  is  the  will  of  God. 
"  He  sent  the  Mahratta  spear 
"As  He  sendeth  the  rain, 
"And  the  Mlech,  in  the  fated  year, 
"  Broke  the  spear  in  twain, 
136 


WHAT   THE   PEOPLE   SAID  137 

"And  was  broken  in  turn.     Who  knows 
"How  our  Lords  make  strife? 
"  It  is  good  that  the  young  wheat  grows, 
"For  the  bread  is  Life." 


Then,  far  and  near,  as  the  twilight  drew, 

Hissed  up  to  the  scornful  dark 
Great  serpents,  blazing,  of  red  and  blue. 
That  rose  and  faded,  and  rose  anew, 

That  the  Land  might  wonder  and  mark. 
"To-day  is  a  day  of  days,"  they  said, 
"Make  merry,  O  People  all!" 
And  the  Ploughman  listened  and  bowed  his  head 
"To-day  and  to-morrow  God's  Will,"  he  said, 
As  he  trimmed  the  lamps  on  the  wall. 

"  He  sendeth  us  years  that  are  good, 

"As  He  sendeth  the  dearth. 

"  He  giveth  to  each  man  his  food, 

"  Or  Her  food  to  the  Earth. 

"Our  Kings  and  our  Queens  are  afar  — 

"On  their  peoples  be  peace  — 

"  God  bringeth  the  rain  to  the  Bar, 

"That  our  cattle  increase." 


138  WHAT  THE   PEOPLE   SAID 

And  the  Ploughman  settled  the  share 
More  deep  in  the  sun-dried  clod :  — 
"Mogul,  Mahratta,  and  Mlech  from  the  North, 
"  And  White  Queen  over  the  Seas  — 
"God  raiseth  them  up  and  driveth  them  forth 
"As  the  dust  of  the  ploughshare  flies  in  the  breeze; 
"  But  the  wheat  and  the  cattle  are  all  my  care, 
"And  the  rest  is  the  will  of  God." 


THE  UNDERTAKER'S   HORSE 

"  To-tschi?i-shu  is   condemned  to  death.     Hozu  can   he 
drink  tea  with  the  executioner P''  —  Japanese  Proverb. 

The  eldest  son  bestrides  him, 

And  the  pretty  daughter  rides  him, 

And  I  meet  him  oft  o'  mornings  on  the  Course ; 

And  there  wakens  in  my  bosom 

An  emotion  chill  and  gruesome 

As  I  canter  past  the  Undertaker's  Horse. 

Neither  shies  he  nor  is  restive, 
But  a  hideously  suggestive 
Trot,  professional  and  placid,  he  affects ; 
And  the  cadence  of  his  hoof-beats 
To  my  mind  this  grim  reproof  beats  :  — 
"Mend   your  pace,  my  friend,  I'm  coming.     Who's 
the  next?" 

Ah  !  stud-bred  of  ill-omen, 
I  have  watched  the  strongest  go  —  men 

139 


140  THE   UNDERTAKER'S   HORSE 

Of  pith  and  might  and  muscle  —  at  your  heels, 
Down  the  plantain-bordered  highway 
(Heaven  send  it  ne'er  be  my  way  !), 
In  a  lacquered  box  and  jetty  upon  wheels. 

Answer,  sombre  beast  and  dreary, 

Where  is  Brown,  the  young,  the  cheery. 

Smith,  the  pride  of  all  his  friends  and  half  the  Force  ? 

You  were  at  that  last  dread  dak 

We  must  cover  at  a  walk, 

Bring  them  back  to  me,  O  Undertaker's  Horse  ! 

With  your  mane  unhogged  and  flowing, 

And  your  curious  way  of  going. 

And  that  business-like  black  crimping  of  your  tail, 

E'en  with  Beauty  on  your  back,  Sir, 

Pacing  as  a  lady's  hack.  Sir, 

What  wonder  when  I  meet  you  I  turn  pale  ? 

It  may  be  you  wait  your  time.  Beast, 

Till  I  write  my  last  bad  rhyme,  Beast, 

Quit  the  sunlight,  cut  the  rhyming,  drop  the  glass, 

Follow  after  with  the  others, 

Where  some  dusky  heathen  smothers 

Us  with  marigolds  in  lieu  of  English  grass. 


THE   UNDERTAKER'S    HORSE  141 

Or,  perchance,  in  years  to  follow, 

I  shall  watch  your  plump  sides  hollow, 

See  Carnifex  (gone  lame)  become  a  corse, 

See  old  age  at  last  o'erpower  you. 

And  the  Station  Pack  devour  you, 

I  shall  chuckle  then,  O  Undertaker's  Horse  ! 

But  to  insult,  gibe,  and  quest,  I've 

Still  the  hideously  suggestive 

Trot  that  hammers  out  the  unrelenting  text, 

And  I  hear  it  hard  behind  me 

In  what  place  soe'er  I  find  me  :  — 

**  Sure  to  catch  you  sooner  or  later.    Who's  the  next  ?  " 


ONE   VICEROY   RESIGNS 

Lord  Dufferin  to  Lord  Lansdowne  :  — 

So  here's  your  Empire.    No  more  wine,  then  ?    Good. 
We'll  clear  the  Aides  and  khitmatgars  away. 
(You'll  know  that  fat  old  fellow  with  the  knife  — 
He  keeps  the  Name  Book,  talks  in  English,  too, 
And  almost  thinks  himself  the  Government.) 

0  Youth,   Youth,   Youth !      Forgive   me,   you're    so 

young. 
Forty  from  sixty  —  twenty  years  of  work 
And  power  to  back  the  working.     Ay  de  mi  I 
You  want  to  know,  you  want  to  see,  to  touch 
And,  by  your  lights,  to  act.     It's  natural. 

1  wonder  can  I  help  you.     Let  me  try. 

You  saw  —  what  did  you  see  from  Bombay  east? 
Enough  to  frighten  any  one  but  me? 
Neat  that !     It  frightened  Me  in  Eighty- Four  ! 
You  shouldn't  take  a  man  from  Canada 
And  bid  him  smoke  in  powder-magazines ; 
Nor  with  a  Reputation  such  as  .  .  .     Bah  ! 
That  ghost  has  haunted  me  for  twenty  years, 

142 


ONE   VICEROY   RESIGNS  143 

My  Reputation  now  full-blown  —  Your  fault  — 

Yours,  with  your  stories  of  the  strife  at  Home, 

Who's  up,  who's  down,  who  leads  and  who  is  led  — 

One  reads  so  much,  one  hears  so  little  here. 

Well,  now's  your  turn  of  exile.     I  go  back 

To  Rome  and  leisure.     All  roads  lead  to  Rome. 

Or  books  —  the  refuge  of  the  destitute. 

When  you  .  .  .  that  brings  me  back  to  India.     See  ! 

Start  clear.     /  couldn't.     Egypt  served  my  turn. 
You'll  never  plumb  the  Oriental  mind, 
And  if  you  did  it  isn't  worth  the  toil. 
Think  of  a  sleek  French  priest  in  Canada ; 
Divide  by  twenty  half-breeds.     Multiply 
By  twice  the  Sphinx's  silence.     There's  your  East, 
And  you're  as  wise  as  ever.     So  am  I. 

Accept  on  trust  and  work  in  darkness,  strike 
At  venture,  stumble  forward,  make  your  mark, 
(It's  chalk  on  granite,)  then  thank  God  no  flame 
Leaps  from  the  rock  to  shrivel  mark  and  man. 
I'm   clear  —  my  mark   is   made.     Three   months   of 

drouth 
Had  ruined  much.     It  rained  and  washed  away 
The  specks  that  might  have  gathered  on  my  Name. 
I  took  a  country  twice  the  size  of  France, 
And  shuttered  up  one  doorway  in  the  North. 


144  ONE  VICEROY   RESIGNS 

I  stand  by  those.     You'll  find  that  both  will  pay, 

I  pledged  my  Name  on  both  —  they're  yours  to-night. 

Hold  to  them  —  they  hold  fame  enough  for  two. 

I'm  old,  but  I  shall  live  till  Burma  pays. 

Men  there  —  ;;<?/ German  traders  —  Cr-sthw-te  knows — 

You'll  find  it  in  my  papers.     For  the  North 

Guns  always  —  quietly  —  but  always  guns. 

You've  seen  your  Council?     Yes,  they'll  try  to  rule, 

And  prize  their  Reputations.     Have  you  met 

A  grim  lay-reader  with  a  taste  for  coins, 

And  faith  in  Sin  most  men  withhold  from  God? 

He's  gone  to  England.     R-p-n  knew  his  grip 

And  kicked.     A  Council  always  has  its  H-pes. 

They  look  for  nothing  from  the  West  but  Death 

Or  Bath  or  Bournemouth.     Here's  their  ground. 

They  fight 
Until  the  middle  classes  take  them  back, 
One  of  ten  millions  plus  a  C.  S.  I. 
Or  drop  in  harness.     Legion  of  the  Lost? 
Not  altogether  —  earnest,  narrow  men. 
But  chiefly  earnest,  and  they'll  do  your  work, 
And  end  by  writing  letters  to  the  Times. 
(Shall  /write  letters,  answering  H-nt-r — fawn 
With  R-p-n  on  the  Yorkshire  grocers?     Ugh  !) 
They  have  their  Reputations.     Look  to  one  — 


ONE   VICEROY   RESIGNS  145 

I  work  with  him  —  the  smallest  of  them  all, 
White-haired,  red-faced,  who  sat  the  plunging  horse 
Out  in  the  garden.     He's  your  right-hand  man, 
And  dreams  of  tilting  W-ls-y  from  the  throne, 
But  while  he  dreams  gives  work  we  cannot  buy ; 
He  has  his  Reputation  —  wants  the  Lords 
By  way  of  Frontier  Roads.     Meantime,  I  think, 
He  values  very  much  the  hand  that  fiiUs 
Upon  his  shoulder  at  the  Council  table  — 
Hates  cats  and  knows  his  business  :  which  is  yours. 
Your  business  !     Twice  a  hundred  million  souls. 
Your  business  !     I  could  tell  you  what  I  did 
Some  nights  of  Eighty-Five,  at  Simla,  worth 
A  Kingdom's  ransom.     When  a  big  ship  drives 
God  knows  to  what  new  reef,  the  man  at  the  wheel 
Prays  with  the  passengers.     They  lose  their  lives, 
Or  rescued  go  their  way ;  but  he's  no  man 
To  take  his  trick  at  the  wheel  again  —  that's  worse 
Than  drowning.     Well,  a  galled  Tslashobra  mule 
(You'll  see  Mashobra)  passed  me  on  the  Mall, 
And  I  was — some  fool's  wife  had  ducked  and  bowed 
To  show  the  others  I  would  stop  and  speak. 
Then  the  mule  fell  —  three  galls,  a  hand- breadth  each, 
Behind  the  withers.     Mrs.  Whatsisname 
Leers  at  the  mule  and  me  by  turns,  thweet  thoul ! 


146  ONE   VICEROY   RESIGNS 

"  How  could  they  make  him  carry  such  a  load  ! " 
I  saw  —  it  isn't  often  I  dream  dreams  — 
More  than  the  mule  that  minute  —  smoke  and  flame 
From  Simla  to  the  haze  below.     That's  weak. 
You're  younger.     You'll  dream  dreams  before  you've 

done. 
You've    youth,    that's    one  —  good   workmen  —  that 

means  two 
Fair  chances  in  your  favour.     Fate's  the  third. 
I  know  what  /  did.     Do  you  ask  me,  "  Preach  ?  " 
I  answer  by  my  past  or  else  go  back 
To  platitudes  of  rule  —  or  take  you  thus 
In  confidence  and  say  :  —  "  You  know  the  trick  : 
"You've  governed  Canada.    You  know.     K?//know!" 
And  all  the  while  commend  you  to  Fate's  hand 
(Here  at  the  top  one  loses  sight  o'  God), 
Commend  you,  then,  to  something  more  than  you  — 
The  Other  People's  blunders  and  .  .  .  that's  all. 
I'd  agonize  to  serve  you  if  I  could. 
It's  incommunicable,  like  the  cast 
That  drops  the  tackle  with  the  gut  adry. 
Too  much  —  too  little  —  there's  your  salmon  lost ! 
And  so  I  tell  you  nothing  —  wish  you  luck, 
And  wonder  —  how  I  wonder  !  —  for  your  sake 
And  triumph  for  my  own.    You're  young,  you're  young, 


ONE  VICEROY   RESIGNS  U7 

You  hold  to  half  a  hundred  Shibboleths. 

I'm  old.     I  followed  Power  to  the  last, 

Gave  her  my  best,  and  Power  followed  Me. 

It's  worth  it  —  on  my  soul  I'm  speaking  plain, 

Here  by  the  claret  glasses  !  —  worth  it  all. 

I  gave  —  no  matter  what  I  gave  —  I  win. 

/  kjioiu  I  win.     Mine's  work,  good  work  that  lives  ! 

A  country  twice  the  size  of  France  —  the  North 

Safeguarded.     That's  my  record  :  sink  the  rest 

And  better  if  you  can.     The  Rains  may  serve. 

Rupees  may  rise  —  three  pence  will  give  you  Fame  — 

It's  rash  to  hope  for  sixpence  —  If  they  rise 

Get  guns,  more  guns,  and  lift  the  salt- tax. 

Oh! 
I  told  you  what  the  Congress  meant  or  thought? 
I'll  answer  nothing.     Half  a  year  will  prove 
The  full  extent  of  time  and  thought  you'll  spare 
To  Congress.     Ask  a  Lady  Doctor  once 
How  little  Begums  see  the  light  —  deduce 
Thence  how  the  True  Reformer's  child  is  born. 
It's  interesting,  curious  .   .  .  and  vile. 
I  told  the  Turk  he  was  a  gentleman. 
I  told  the  Russian  that  his  Tartar  veins 
Bled  pure  Parisian  ichor;  and  he  purred. 
The  Congress  doesn't  purr.     I  think  it  swears. 


148  ONE   VICEROY    RESIGNS 

You're  young  —  you'll  swear  too  ere  you've  reached 

the  end. 
The  End !     God  help  you,  if  there  be  a  God. 
(There  must  be  one  to  startle  Gl-dst-ne's  soul 
In  that  new  land  where  all  the  wires  are  cut, 
And  Cr-ss  snores  anthems  on  the  asphodel.) 
God  help  you!     And  I'd  help  you  if  I  could. 
But  that's  beyond  me.     Yes,  your  speech  was  crude. 
Sound  claret  after  olives  —  yours  and  mine; 
But  Medoc  slips  into  vin  ordinaire. 
(I'll  drink  my  first  at  Genoa  to  your  health) 
Raise  it  to  Hock.     You'll  never  catch  my  style. 
And,  after  all,  the  middle-classes  grip 
The  middle-class  —  for  Brompton  talk  Earl's  Court. 
Perhaps  you're  right.     I'll  see  you  in  the  Times  — 
A  quarter-column  of  eye-searing  print, 
A  leader  once  a  quarter  —  then  a  war; 
The  Strand  abellow  through  the  fog :  —  "  Defeat !  " 
"  'Orrible  slaughter !  "     While  you  lie  awake 
And  wonder.     Oh,  you'll  wonder  ere  you're  free! 
I  wonder  now.     The  four  years  slide  away 
So  fast,  so  fast,  and  leave  me  here  alone. 
R — y  C-lv-n,  L — 1,  R-b-rts,  B-ck,  the  rest, 
Princes  and  Powers  of  Darkness,  troops  and  trains, 
(I  cannot  ^^^^  in  trains,)  land  piled  on  land. 


ONE  VICEROY   RESIGNS  119 

Whitewash  and  weariness,  red  rockets,  dust, 

White     snows     that     mocked    me,     palaces — with 

draughts, 
And  W-stl-nd  with  the  drafts  he  couldn't  pay. 
Poor  W-ls-n  reading  his  obituary 
Before  he  died,  and  H-pe,  the  man  with  bones, 
And  A-tch-s-n  a  dripping  mackintosh 
At  Council  in  the  Rains,  his  grating  "Sirrr  " 
Half  drowned  by  H-nt-r's  silky:  —  "Bat  my  lahd." 
Hunterian  always :  M-rsh-1  spinning  plates 
Or  standing  on  his  head;  the  Rent  Bill's  roar, 
A  hundred  thousand  speeches,  much  red  cloth, 
And  Smiths  thrice  happy  if  I  call  them  Jones, 
(I  can't  remember  half  their  names)  or  reined 
My  pony  on  the  Mall  to  greet  their  wives. 
More  trains,  more  troops,  more  dust,  and  then  all's 

done. 
Four  years,  and  I  forget.     If  I  forget 
How  will  they  bear  me  in  their  minds?     The  North 
Safeguarded  —  nearly  (R-b-rts  knows  the  rest), 
A  country  twice  the  size  of  France  annexed. 
That  stays  at  least.     The  rest  may  pass  —  may  pass  — 
Your  heritage  —  and  I  can  teach  you  naught. 
"High  trust,"   "vast   honour,"   "interests   twice  as 

vast," 


150 


ONE   VICEROY    RESIGNS 


'^  Due  reverence  to  your  Council  "  —  keep  to  those. 
I  envy  you  the  twenty  years  you've  gained, 
But  not  the  five  to  follow.     What's  that?     One! 
Two!  —  Surely  not   so   late.      Good-night.      Don'^ 
dream. 


THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 

Oh  gallant  was  our  galley  from  her  carven  steering- 
wheel 

To  her  figurehead  of  silver  and  her  beak  of  hammered 
steel; 

The  leg-bar  chafed  the  ankle  and  we  gasped  for 
cooler  air, 

But  no  galley  on  the  water  with  our  galley  could 
compare ! 

Our  bulkheads  bulged  with  cotton  and  our  masts  were 

stepped  in  gold  — 
We  ran  a  mighty  merchandise  of  niggers  in  the  hold; 
The  white  foam  spun  behind  us,  and  the  black  shark 

swam  below, 
As  we  gripped  the  kicking  sweep -head  and  we  made 

that  galley  go. 

'Twas  merry  in  the  galley,  for  we  revelled  now  and 

then  — 
If  they  wore  us  down  like  cattle,  faith,  we  fought  and 

loved  like  men ! 

151 


152  THE   GALLEY-SLAVE 

As  we  snatched  her  through  the  water,  so  we  snatched 

a  minute's  bliss,  • 

And  the  mutter  of  the  dying  never  spoiled  the  lovers' 

kiss. 

Our  women  and  our  children  toiled  beside  us  in  the 

dark  — 
They  died,  we  filed  their  fetters,  and  we  heaved  them 

to  the  shark  — 
We  heaved  them  to  the  fishes,  but  so  fast  the  galley 

sped 
We  had  only  time  to  envy,  for  we  could  not  mourn 

our  dead. 

Bear  witness,   once  my  comrades,   what  a  hard-bit 

gang  were  we  — 
The  servants  of  the  sweep-head  but  the  masters  of  the 

sea! 
By  the  hands  that  drove  her  forward  as  she  plunged 

and  yawed  and  sheered, 
Woman,  Man,  or  God  or  Devil,  was  there  anything 

we  feared? 

Was  it  storm?    Our  fathers  faced  it  and  a  wilder 
never  blew; 


THE   GALLEY-SLAVE  153 

Earth  that  waited  for  the  wreckage  watched  the  galley 

struggle  through. 
Burning  noon  or  choking  midnight,  Sickness,  Sorrow, 

Parting,  Death? 
Nay,  our  very  babes  would  mock  you  had  they  time 

for  idle  breath. 


But  to-day  I  leave  the  galley  and  another  takes  my 

place; 
There's  my  name  upon  the  deck-beam  —  let  it  stand 

a  little  space. 
I  am  free  —  to  watch  my  messmates  beating  out  to 

open  main 
Free  of  all  that  Life  can  offer  —  save  to  handle  sweep 

again. 

By  the  brand  upon  my  shoulder,  by  the  gall  of  cling- 
ing steel. 

By  the  welt  the  whips  have  left  me,  by  the  scars  that 
never  heal; 

By  eyes  grown  old  with  staring  through  the  sun-wash 
on  the  brine, 

I  am  paid  in  full  for  service  —  would  that  service 
still  were  mine ! 


154  THE   GALLEY-SLAVE 

Yet  they  talk  of  times  and  seasons  and  of  woe  the 

years  bring  forth, 
Of  our  galley  swamped  and  shattered  in  the  rollers  of 

the  North. 
When  the  niggers  break  the  hatches  and  the  decks 

are  gay  with  gore, 
And  a  craven-hearted  pilot  crams  her  crashing  on  the 

shore. 

She  will  need  no  half-mast  signal,   minute-gun,   or 

rocket-flare, ' 
When  the  cry  for  help  goes  seaward,  she  will  find  her 

servants  there. 
Battered  chain-gangs  of  the  orlop,  grizzled  drafts  of 

years  gone  by. 
To  the  bench  that  broke  their  manhood,  they  shall 

lash  themselves  and  die. 

Hale  and  crippled,  young  and  aged,  paid,  deserted, 
shipped  away  — 

Palace, cot,  and  lazaretto  shall  makeup  the  tale  that  day 

When  the  skies  are  black  above  them,  and  the  decks 
ablaze  beneath. 

And  the  top-men  clear  the  ralTle  with  their  clasp- 
knives  in  their  teeth. 


THE   GALLEY-SLAVE  155 

It  may  be  that  Fate  will  give  me  life  and  leave  to 
row  once  more  — 

Set  some  strong  man  free  for  fighting  as  I  take  awhile 
his  oar. 

But  to-day  I  leave  the  galley.  Shall  I  curse  her  ser- 
vice then? 

God  be  thanked  —  whate'er  comes  after,  I  have  lived 
and  toiled  with  Men ! 


A  TALE   OF  TWO   CITIES 

Where  the  sober-coloured  cultivator  smiles 

On  his  byles  ; 
Where  the  cholera,  the  cyclone,  and  the  crow 

Come  and  go; 
Where  the  merchant  deals  in  indigo  and  tea, 

Hides  and  ghi; 
Where  the  Babu  drops  inflammatory  hints 

In  his  prints; 
Stands  a  City  —  Charnock  chose  it  —  packed  away 

Near  a  Bay  — 
By  the  sewage  rendered  fetid,  by  the  sewer 

Made  impure, 
By  the  Sunderbunds  unwholesome,  by  the  swamp 

Moist  and  damp; 
And  the  City  and  the  Viceroy,  as  we  see. 

Don't  agree.  ^ 

Once,  two  hundred  years  ago,  the  trader  came 
Meek  and  tame. 
16G 


A   TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES  157 

Where  his  timid  foot  first  halted,  there  he  stayed, 

Till  mere  trade 
Grew  to  Empire,  and  he  sent  his  armies  forth 

South  and  North. 
Till  the  country  from  Peshawar  to  Ceylon 

Was  his  own. 
Thus  the  midday  halt  of  Charnock  —  more's  the  pity ! 

Grew  a  City. 
As  the  fungus  sprouts  chaotic  from  its  bed, 

So  it  spread  — 
Chance-directed,  chance-erected,  laid  and  built 

On  the  silt  — 
Palace,  byre,  hovel  —  poverty  and  pride  — 

Side  by  Side; 
And,  above  the  packed  and  pestilential  town, 

Death  looked  down. 

But  the  Rulers  in  that  City  by  the  Sea, 

Turned  to  flee  — 
Fled,  with  each  returning  Spring-tide  from  its  ills 

To  the  Hills. 
Fro^  the  clammy  fogs  of  morning,  from  the  blaze 

Of  the  days, 
From  the  sickness  of  the  noontide,  from  the  heat, 

Beat  retreat; 


158  A  TALE   OF   TWO   CITIES 

For  the  country  from  Peshawar  to  Ceylon 

Was  their  own. 
But  the  Merchant  risked  the  perils  of  the  Plain 

For  his  gain. 
Now  the  resting-place  of  Charnock,  'neath  the  palms, 

Asks  an  alms, 
And  the  burden  of  its  lamentation  is, 

Briefly,  this :  — 
"Because,  for  certain  months,  we  boil  and  stew, 

"  So  should  you. 
"Cast  the  Viceroy  and  his  Council,  to  perspire 

"In  our  fire!" 
And  for  answer  to  the  argument,  in  vain 

We  explain 
That  an  amateur  Saint  Lawrence  cannot  cry :  — 

"^// must  fry!" 
That  the  Merchant  risks  the  perils  of  the  Plain 

For  his  gain. 
Nor  can  Rulers  rule  a  house  that  men  grow  rich  in, 

From  its  kitchen. 

Let  the  Babu  drop  inflammatory  hints 

In  his  prints; 
And  mature  —  consistent  soul  —  his  plan  for  stealing 

To  Darjeeling: 


A   TALE   OF  TWO    CITIES  159 

Let  the  Merchant  seek,  who  makes  his  silver  pile, 

England's  isle; 
Let  the  City  Charnock  pitched  on  —  evil  day!  — 

Go  Her  way. 
Though  the  argosies  of  Asia  at  Her  doors 

Heap  their  stores, 
Though  Her  enterprise  and  energy  secure 

Income  sure. 
Though  "  out-station  orders  punctually  obeyed  " 

Swell  Her  trade  — 
Stillf  for  rule,  administration,  and  the  rest 

Simla's  best. 


IN   SPRING  TIME 

My  garden  blazes  brightly  with  the  rose-bush  and  the 
peach, 
And  the  k'dil  sings  above  it,  in  the  siris  by  the  well. 
From  the  creeper-covered  trellis  comes  the  squirrel's 
chattering  speech, 
And  the  blue  jay  screams  and  flutters  where  the 
cheery  saibhai  dwell. 
But  the  rose  has  lost  its  fragrance,  and  the  koW s  note 
is  strange; 
I  am  sick  of  endless  sunshine,  sick  of  blossom- 
burdened  bough. 
Give  me  back  the  leafless  woodlands  where  the  winds 
of  Springtime  range  — 
Give  me  back  one  day  in  England,  for  it's  Spring 
in  England  now ! 
Through  the  pines  the  gusts  are  booming,  o'er  the 
brown  fields  blowing  chill, 
From  the  furrow  of  the  plough-share  streams  the 
fragrance  of  the  loam, 
160 


IN    SPRING   TIME  161 

And  the  hawk  nests  in  the  cliffside  and  the  jackdaw 
on  the  hill, 
And  my  heart  is  back  in  England  'mid  the  sights 
and  sounds  of  Home. 
But  the  garland  of  the  sacrifice  this  wealth  of  rose 
and  peach  is, 
Ah !  k'dil,  little  koil^  singing  on  the  siris  bough, 
In  my  ears  the  knell  of  exile  your  ceaseless  bell-like 
speech  is  — 
Can  you  tell  me  aught  of  England  or  of  Spring  in 
England  now? 


GIFFEN'S   DEBT 

Imprimis  he  was  "broke."     Thereafter  left 
His  regiment  and,  later,  took  to  drink; 
Then,  having  lost  the  balance  of  his  friends, 
"Went  Fantee"  —  joined  the  people  of  the  land, 
Turned  three  parts  Mussulman  and  one  Hindu, 
And  lived  among  the  Gauri  villagers. 
Who  gave  him  shelter  and  a  wife  or  twain. 
And  boasted  that  a  thorough,  full-blood  sahib 
Had  come  among  them.     Thus  he  spent  his  time, 
Deeply  indebted  to  the  village  shroff, 
(Who  never  asked  for  payment)  always  drunk. 
Unclean,  abominable,  out-at-heels; 
Forgetting  that  he  was  an  Englishman. 

You  know  they  dammed  the  Gauri  with  a  dam. 
And  all  the  good  contractors  scamped  their  work. 
And  all  the  bad  material  at  hand 
Was  used  to  dam  the  Gauri  —  which  was  cheap, 
And,  therefore,  proper.     Then  the  Gauri  burst, 
And  several  hundred  thousand  cubic  tons 

102 


GIFFEN^S   DEBT  163 

Of  water  dropped  into  the  valley,  flop^ 

And  drowned  some  five  and  twenty  villagers, 

And  did  a  lakh  or  two  of  detriment 

To  crops  and  cattle.     When  the  flood  went  down 

We  found  him  dead,  beneath  an  old  dead  horse, 

Full  six  miles  down  the  valley.     So  we  said 

He  was  a  victim  to  the  Demon  Drink, 

And  moralized  upon  him  for  a  week. 

And  then  forgot  him.     Which  was  natural. 

But,  in  the  valley  of  the  Gauri,  men 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  big  new  dam, 

Relate  a  foolish  legend  of  the  flood, 

Accounting  for  the  little  loss  of  life 

(Only  those  five  and  twenty  villagers) 

In  this  wise :  —  On  the  evening  of  the  flood, 

They  heard  the  groaning  of  the  rotten  dam, 

And  voices  of  the  Mountain  Devils.     Then 

An  incarnation  of  the  local  God, 

Mounted  upon  a  monster-neighing  horse, 

And  flourishing  a  flail-like  whip,  came  down, 

Breathing  ambrosia,  to  the  villages, 

And  fell  upon  the  simple  villagers 

With  yells  beyond  the  power  of  mortal  throat. 

And  blows  beyond  the  power  of  mortal  hand, 


164  GIFFEN'S   DEBT 

And  smote  them  with  the  flail-like  whip,  and  drove 
Them  clamorous  with  terror  up  the  hill, 
And  scattered,  with  the  monster-neighing  steed, 
Their  crazy  cottages  about  their  ears, 
And  generally  cleared  those  villages. 
Then  came  the  water,  and  the  local  God, 
Breathing  ambrosia,  flourishing  his  whip. 
And  mounted  on  his  monster-neighing  steed, 
Went  down  the  valley  with  the  flying  trees 
And  residue  of  homesteads,  while  they  watched 
Safe  on  the  mountain-side  these  wondrous  things. 
And  knew  that  they  were  much  beloved  of  Heaven. 

Wherefore,  and  when  the  dam  was  newly  built. 

They  raised  a  temple  to  the  local  God, 

And  burnt  all  manner  of  unsavoury  things 

Upon  his  altar,  and  created  priests. 

And  blew  into  a  conch  and  banged  a  bell, 

And  told  the  story  of  the  Gauri  flood 

With  circumstance  and  much  embroidery. 

So  be,  the  whiskified  Objectionable, 

Unclean,  abominable,  out-at-heels. 

Became  the  tutelary  Deity 

Of  all  the  Gauri  valley  villages ; 

And  may  in  time  become  a  Solar  Myth. 


TWO   MONTHS 
In  June 

No  hope,  no  change !     The  clouds  have  shut  us  in, 
And  through  the  cloud  the  sullen  Sun  strikes  down 
Full  on  the  bosom  of  the  tortured  Town. 
Till  Night  falls  heavy  as  remembered  sin 
That  will  not  suffer  sleep  or  thought  of  ease. 
And,  hour  on  hour,  the  dry-eyed  Moon  in  spite 
Glares  through  the  haze  and  mocks  with  watery  light 
The  torment  of  the  uncomplaining  trees. 
Far  off,  the  Thunder  bellows  her  despair 
To  echoing  Earth  thrice  parched.     The  lightnings  fly 
In  vain.     No  help  the  heaped-up  clouds  afford, 
But  wearier  weight  of  burdened,  burning  air. 
What  truce  with  Dawn?     Look,  from  the  aching  sky 
Day  stalks,  a  tyrant  with  a  flaming  sword ! 

165 


TWO   MONTHS 
In  September 

At  dawn  there  was  a  murmur  in  the  trees, 
A  ripple  on  the  tank,  and  in  the  air 
Presage  of  coming  coolness  —  everywhere 

A  voice  of  prophecy  upon  the  breeze. 

Up  leapt  the  Sun  and  smote  the  dust  to  gold, 
And  strove  to  parch  anew  the  heedless  land, 

All  impotently,  as  a  King  grown  old 

Wars  for  the  Empire  crumbling  'neath  his  hand. 

One  after  one,  the  lotos-petals  fell. 
Beneath  the  onslaught  of  the  rebel  year 
In  mutiny  against  a  furious  sky; 
And  far-off  Winter  whispered :  —  "  It  is  well ! 
"  Hot  Summer  dies.     Behold  your  help  is  near, 
"For  when  men's  need  is  sorest,  then  come  I." 

166 


L' ENVOI 

[  To  whom  it  uiay  co7icern\ 

The  smoke  upon  your  Altar  dies, 

The  flowers  decay, 
The  Goddess  of  your  sacrifice 

Has  flown  away. 
What  profit  then  to  sing  or  slay 
The  sacrifice  from  day  to  day? 

"We  know  the  Shrine  is  void,"  they  said, 

"  The  Goddess  flown  — 
"  Yet  wreaths  are  on  the  altar  laid  — 

"The  Altar-Stone 
"  Is  black  with  fumes  of  sacrifice, 
"Albeit  She  has  fled  our  eyes. 

"  For,  it  may  be,  if  still  we  sing 

"And  tend  the  Shrine, 
"Some  Deity  on  wandering  wing 

"May  there  incline; 
"And,  finding  all  in  order  meet, 
"Stay  while  we  worship  at  Her  feet." 
167 


WOLCOTT  BALESTIER 


PREFACE 

The  greater  part  of  the  ^  Barrack- Room 
Ballads^  as  well  as  '  Cleared,  '  Tovilinson,^ 
and  '  The  English  Flag '  have  appeared  in  the 
*  National  Observer.'  Messrs.  Macmillafi  and 
Co.  have  kindly  given  me  permission  to  repro- 
duce four  ballads  contributed  to  their  Magazine, 
and  I  am  indebted  to  the  '  St.  Jafnes  Gazette ' 
for  a  like  courtesy  in  regard  to  the  ballads  of 
the  '  Clampherdown  '  and  '  Bolivar,'  and  the 
^  Imperial  Rescript.'  '  The  Rhyme  of  the  Three 
Captains'  was  printed  first  i7i  the  ^  Athenceum.' 
I fa7icy  that  most  of  the  other  verses  are  new. 

RUDYARD   KIPLING. 


L 


Beyond  the  path  of  the  outmost  sun,  through  utter  dark- 
ness hurled. 
Further  than  ever  comet  flared  or  7>agrant  star-dust  sivirled, 
Sit  such  as  fought  and  sailed  and  ruled  and  loved  and  made 
our  world. 

They  are  purged  of  pride  because  they  died ;  they  know  the 

worth  of  their  bays ; 
They  sit  at  wine  with  the  Maidens  Nine,  and  the  Gods  of 

the  Elder  Days — 
//  is  their  will  to  serve  or  be  still  as  fitteth  our  Father'' s 

praise. 

^Tis  theirs  to  sweep  through  the  ringing  deep  where  AzraeVs 

outposts  are. 
Or  buffet  a  path  through  the  Pifs  red  wrath  when  God  goes 

out  to  war, 
Or  hang  with  the  reckless  Seraphim  on  the  rein  of  a  red- 

7naned  star. 

They  take  their  mirth  in  the  joy  of  the  earth — they  dare  ?iot 

grieve  for  her  pain — 
For  they  ktiow  of  toil  and  the  end  of  toil — they  know  God'^s 

Law  is  plain  ; 
So  they  whistle  the  Devil  to  make  them  sport  who  know  that 

sin  is  vain. 

And  ofttimes  cometh  our  wise  Lord  God,  master  of  every 
trade, 

And  tells  them  tales  of  the  Seventh  Day — of  Edens  newly 
made. 

And  they  rise  to  their  feet  as  He  passes  by — ge?itlemen  un- 
afraid. 


To  these  who  are  cleansed  of  base  Desire^  Sorrow  and 

L2ist  and  Shame — 
Gods,  for  they  knew  the  heart  of  Men — men,  for  they 

stooped  to  Fame — 
Borne  on  the  breath  that  men  call  Death,  my  brother'' s  spirit 

came. 

Scarce  had  he  need  to  cast  his  pride  or  slough  the  dross  of 

earth. 
E''en  as  he  trod  that  day  to  God,  so  walked  he  from  his 

birth — 
In  sijnpleness  and  gentleness  and  honour  and  clean  mirth. 

So,  cup  to  Up  in  fellowship,  they  gave  him  welcofne  high 
And  made  him  place  at  the  banquet  board,  the  Strong  Men 

ra7iged  thereby, 
Who  had  done  his  work  and  held  his  peace  and  had  no  fear 

to  die. 

Beyond  the  loom  of  the  last  lone  star  through  open  darkness 

hurled. 
Further  than  rebel  comet  dared  or  hiving  star -swarm 

swirled, 
Sits  he  with  such  as  praise  our  God  for  that  they  served 

his  world. 


CONTENTS 

Ballads 

PAGE 

THE  BALLAD  OF  EAST  AND  WEST 

Oh  East  is  East,  and  West  is  West,  and  never  the 

twain  shall  meet,  ......  3 

THE  LAST  SUTTEE 

Udai  Chand  lay  sick  to  death, 12 

THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  KING'S  MERCY 

Abdhur  Rahman,  the  Durani  Chief,  of  him  is  the 

story  told, 18 

THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  KING'S  JEST 

When  spring-time  flushes  the  desert  grass,         .         .         25 

WITH  SCINDIA  TO  DELHI 

The  wreath  of  banquet  overnight  lay  withered  on  the 

neck,   .........         31 

THE  BALLAD  OF  BOH  DA  THONE 

This  is  the  ballad  of  Boh  Da  Thone,  ...         40 

THE  LAMENT  OF  THE  BORDER  CATTLE  THIEF 

O  woe  is  me  for  the  merry  life,  •         •         •        •        53 

xi 


xii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE   RHYME   OF  THE  THREE  CAPTAINS 

...  At  the  close  of  a  winter  day,    ....         56 

THE  BALLAD   OF  THE   '  CLAMPHERDOWN ' 

It  was  our  war-ship  '  Clampherdown,'        ...         64 

THE   BALLAD   OF  THE   'BOLIVAR' 

Seven  men  from  all  the  world,  back  to  docks  again,         69 

THE   LOST   LEGION 

There's  a  legion  that  never  was  'listed,     .         .         .74 

THE   SACRIFICE  OF   ER-HEB 

Er-Heb  beyond  the  hills  of  Ao-Safai,        ...         77 

THE   DOVE   OF   DACCA 

The  freed  dove  flew  to  the  Rajah's  tower —      .         .         88 

THE   EXPLANATION 

Love  and  Death  once  ceased  their  strife,  .         .        90 

AN   ANSWER 

A  rose,  in  tatters  on  the  garden  path,        .         .         .         91 

THE  GIFT   OF  THE   SEA 

The  dead  child  lay  in  the  shroud,      ....         92 

EVARRA  AND   HIS  GODS 

Read  here  :  This  is  the  story  of  Evarra — man — ,       .         96 


CONTENTS  xiii 

PAGE 

THE  CONUNDRUM   OF  THE  WORKSHOPS 

When  the  flush  of  a  new-born  sun  fell  first  on  Eden's 

green  and  gold,  .......       loo 

IN  THE  NEOLITHIC  AGE 

In  the  Neolithic  Age  savage  warfare  did  I  wage,      .       104 

THE   LEGEND   OF   EVIL 

This  is  the  sorrowful  story,        .....       107 

THE  ENGLISH   FLAG 

Winds  of  the  World,  give  answer?     They  are  whim- 
pering to  and  fro — , 1 1 1 

'CLEARED' 

Help  for  a  patriot  distressed,  a  spotless  spirit  hurt,   .       117 

AN  IMPERIAL   RESCRIPT 

Now  this  is  the  tale  of  the  Council  the  German  Kaiser 

decreed, 125 

TOMLINSON 

Now  Tomlinson  gave  up  the  ghost  in  his  house  in 

Berkeley  Square,       .         .         ,         ,        .         .         129 


xiv  CONTENTS 


Barrack-Room  Ballads 


DANNY  DEEVER 

*  What  are  the  bugles  blowin'  for  ? '  said  Files-on- 

Parade, 143 


TOMMY 

I  went  into  a  public-'ouse  to  get  a  pint  o'  beer,         .       146 

*  FUZZY-WUZZY ' 

We've  fought  with  many  men  acrost  the  seas,  ,        .      1 50 

SOLDIER,  SOLDIER 

*  Soldier,  soldier,  come  from  the  wars,'      .         .         ,       153 

SCREW-GUNS 

Smokin'    my  pipe   on    the   mountings,    sniffin'    the 

mornin'  cool,       .         .         .         .         .         .         .156 

CELLS 

I've  a  head  like  a  concertina :  I've  a  tongue  like  a 

button-stick, 160 

GUNGA  DIN 

You  may  talk  o'  gin  and  beer,  .        •         .         .       163 


CONTENTS  XV 

PACE 

OONTS ! 

Wot  makes  the  soldier's  'eart  to  penk,  wot  makes 

him  to  perspire? 167 

LOOT 

If   you've    ever    stole    a    pheasant-egg    be'ind    the 

keeper's  back, '7' 

*SNARLEYOW' 

This  'appened  in  a  battle  to  a  batt'ry  of  the  corps,    .       175 

THE  WIDOW  AT  WINDSOR 

'Ave  you  'eard  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor,  .         .       '79 

BELTS 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street  that's  near  to  Dublin 

Quay, 182 

THE  YOUNG  BRITISH  SOLDIER 

When  the  'arf-made  recruity  goes  out  to  the  East,     .        186 

MANDALAY 

By  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  lookin'  eastward  to  the 

sea, 190 

TROOPIN' 

Troopin',  troopin',  troopin'  to  the  sea,       .        .  I94 


xvi  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  WIDOW'S  PARTY 

'  Where  have  you  been  this  while  away/  .        .        .       197 

FORD  O'  KABUL   RIVER 

Kabul  town's  by  Kabul  river — ,         ....       200 

GENTLEMEN-RANKERS 

To  the  Legion  of  the  Lost  Ones  to  the  Cohort  of  the 

Damned, 203 

ROUTE-MARCHIN' 

We're  marchin'  on  relief  over  Injia's  sunny  plains,    .       206 

SHILLIN'  A  DAY 

My  name  is  O' Kelly,  I've  heard  the  revelly,      .        .       210 

L'ENVOI 

There's  a  whisper  down  the  field  where  the  year  has 

shot  her  yield, 213 


BALLADS 


THE   BALLAD   OF   EAST  AND   WEST 

Ohj  East  is  East,  and  West  is    West,  and  never  the 

twain  shall  meet, 
Till  Earth  and  Sky  stand  presently  at  God^s  great 

Judgmejit  Seat ; 
But  there  is  neither  East  nor  West,  Border,  nor  Breed, 

nor  Birth, 
When  two  strong  men  stand  face  to  face,  tho^  they  come 

from  the  ends  of  the  earth  / 

Kamal  is  out  with  twenty  men  to  raise  the  Border 

side, 
And  he  has  lifted  the  Colonel's    mare    that    is   the 

Colonel's  pride: 
He  has  lifted  her  out  of  the  stable-door  between  the 

dawn  and  the  day, 
And  turned  the  calkins   upon  her  feet,  and  ridden 

her  far  away. 

3 


4  THE    BALLAD   OF 

Then   up   and   spoke   the    Colonel's  son  that  led  a 

troop  of  the  Guides : 
'Is  there  never  a  man  of  all  my  men  can  say  where 

Kamal  hides? ' 
Then  up  and  spoke  Mahommed   Khan,  the  son  of 

the  Ressaldar, 
*If  ye  know  the  track  of  the  morning-mist,  ye  know 

where  his  pickets  are. 
*At  dusk  he  harries  the  Abazai — at  dawn  he  is  into 

Bonair, 
'But  he  must  go  by  Fort  Bukloh  to  his  own  place  to 

fare, 
*So  if  ye  gallop  to  Fort  Bukloh  as  fast  as  a  bird  can 

fly, 

*By  the  favour  of  God  ye  may  cut  him  off  ere  he 

win  to  the  Tongue  of  Jagai, 
'But   if   he  be   passed   the   Tongue  of  Jagai,  right 

swiftly  turn  ye  then, 
*For  the  length  and  the  breadth  of  that  grisly  plain 

is  sown  with  Kamal' s  men. 
'There  is  rock  to  the  left,  and  rock  to  the  right,  and 

low  lean  thorn  between, 
*And  ye  may  hear  a  breech-bolt  snick  where  never  a 

man  is  seen.' 


EAST   AND   WEST  6 

The  Colonel's  son  has  taken  a  horse,  and  a  raw 
rough  dun  was  he, 

With  the  mouth  of  a  bell  and  the  heart  of  Hell, 
and  the  head  of  the  gallows-tree. 

The  Colonel's  son  to  the  Fort  has  won,  they  bid  him 
stay  to  eat — 

Who  rides  at  the  tail  of  a  Border  thief,  he  sits  not 
long  at  his  meat. 

He's  up  and  away  from  Fort  Bukloh  as  fast  as  he 
can  fly, 

Till  he  was  aware  of  his  father's  mare  in  the  gut  of 
the  Tongue  of  Jagai, 

Till  he  was  aware  of  his  father's  mare  with  Kamal 
upon  her  back. 

And  when  he  could  spy  the  vrhite  of  her  eye,  he 
made  the  pistol  crack. 

He  has  fired  once,  he  has  fired  tv/ice,  but  the  whist- 
ling ball  went  wide. 

'Ye  shoot  like  a  soldier,'  Kamal  said.  'Show  now 
if  ye  can  ride. ' 

It's  up  and  over  the  Tongue  of  Jagai,  as  blown  dust- 
devils  go. 

The  dun  he  fled  like  a  stag  of  ten,  but  the  mare  like 
a  barren  doe. 


6  THE   BALLAD   OF 

The  dun  he  leaned  against  the  bit  and  slugged  his 

head  above, 
But  the  red  mare  played  with  the  snafHe-bars,  as  a 

maiden  plays  with  a  glove. 
There  was  rock  to   the  left  and  rock  to  the  right, 

and  low  lean  thorn  between, 
And  thrice  he  heard  a  breech-bolt  snick  tho'  never 

a  man  was  seen. 
They  have  ridden  the  low  moon  out  of  the  sky,  their 

hoofs  drum  up  the  dawn, 
The  dun  he  went  like  a  wounded  bull,  but  the  mare 

like  a  new-roused  fawn. 
The  dun  he  fell  at  a  water-course — in  a  woful  heap 

fell  he, 
And    Kamal    has   turned    the    red    mare   back,  and 

pulled  the  rider  free. 
He  has  knocked  the  pistol  out  of  his  hand — small 

room  was  there  to  strive, 
"Twas  only  by  favour  of  mine,'  quoth  he,  'ye  rode 

so  long  alive : 
'There  was  not  a  rock  for  twenty  mile,   there  was 

not  a  clump  of  tree, 
*But  covered  a  man  of  my  own  men  with  his  rifle 

cocked  on  his  knee. 


EAST   AND   WEST  7 

'If    I    had    raised    my    bridle-hand,  as  I  have  held 

it  low, 
*The  little  jackals  that  flee  so  fast,  wer*  feasting  all 

in  a  row: 
'If  I  had  bowed  my  head  on  my  breast,   as  I  have 

held  it  high, 
*Thc  kite  that  whistles  above  us  now  were  gorged 

till  she  could  not  fiy.' 
Lightly  answered  the  Colonel's  son: — 'Do  good  to 

bird  and  beast, 
*But  count  who   come  for  the  broken  meats  before 

thou  makest  a  feast. 
'If  there  should  follow  a  thousand  swords  to  carry 

my  bones  away, 
'Belike  the  price  of  a  jackal's  meal  were  more  than 

a  thief  could  pay. 
'They  will   feed  their  horse  on  the  standing  crop, 

their  men  on  the  garnered  grain, 
'The  thatch  of  the  byres  will  serve  their  fires  when 

all  the  cattle  are  slain. 
'But    if     thou    thinkest    the     price     be     fair, — thy 

brethren  wait  to  sup, 
*The  hound  is  kin  to  the  jackal-spawn, — howl,  dog, 

and  call  them  up ! 


8  THE   BALLAD   OF 

'And  if  thou  thinkest  the    price    be    high,   in  steer 

and  gear  and  stack, 
'Give  me  my  father's  mare  again,  and  I'll  fight  my 

own  way  back ! ' 
Kamal  has  gripped  him   by  the  hand  and  set  him 

upon  his  feet. 
'No  talk  shall  be  of  dogs,'  said  he,  'when  wolf  and 

grey  wolf  meet. 
'May  I  eat  dirt  if  thou  hast  hurt  of  me  in  deed  or 

breath; 
'What  dam  of  lances  brought  thee  forth  to  jest  at 

the  dawn  with  Death  ?  ' 
Lightly  answered  the  Colonel's  son:  'I  hold  by  the 

blood  of  my  clan : 
'Take  up  the  mare  for  my  father's  gift — by  God,  she 

has  carried  a  man ! ' 
The  red  mare  ran  to  the  Colonel's  son,  and  nuzzled 

against  his  breast, 
'We  be  two  strong  men,'  said  Kamal  then,  'but  she 

loveth  the  younger  best. 
'So  she  shall  go  with  a  lifter's  dower,  my  turquoise- 
studded  rein, 
'My  broidercd   saddle  and  saddle-cloth,  and  silver 

stirrups  twain.' 


EAST   AND  WEST  9 

The  Colonel's  son  a  pistol  drew  and  held  it  muzzle- 
end, 
*Ye  have  taken  the  one  from  a  foe,'  said  he;  'will 

ye  take  the  mate  from  a  friend? ' 
*A  gift  for  a  gift,'  said  Kamal  straight;  'a  limb  for 

the  risk  of  a  limb. 
*Thy  father  has  sent  his  son  to  me,   I'll  send  my 

son  to  him ! ' 
With  that   he    whistled  his  only  son,  that  dropped 

from  a  mountain-crest — 
He    trod    the    ling   like    a   buck   in  spring,  and  he 

looked  like  a  lance  in  rest. 
*No-vV  here  is  thy  master,'  Kamal  said,  Svho  leads  a 

troop  of  the  Guides, 
*And  thou  must  ride  at  his  left  side   as   shield  on 

shoulder  rides. 
'Till    Death    or   I    cut   loose  the  tie,  at  camp    and 

board  and  bed, 
*Thy   life   is  his — thy  fate  it  is  to  guard  him  with 

thy  head. 
*So  thou  must  eat  the  White  Queen's  meat,  and  all 

her  foes  are  thine, 
'And    thou    must    harry    thy    father's    hold    for    the 

peace  of  the  Border-line, 


10  THE   BALLAD   OF 

*And  thou  must  make  a  trooper  tough  and  hack  thy 

way  to  power — 
*  Belike  they  will  raise  thee  to  Ressaldar  when  I  am 

hanged  in  Peshawur.' 


They  have  looked  each  other  between  the  eyes,  and 

there  they  found  no  fault, 
They  have  taken  the  Oath  of  the  Brother-in-Blood 

on  leavened  bread  and  salt : 
They  have  taken  the  Oath  of  the  Brother-in-Blood 

on  fire  and  fresh-cut  sod, 
On  the  hilt  and  the  haft  of  the  Khyber  knife,  and 

the  Wondrous  Names  of  God. 
The  Colonel's  son  he  rides  the  mare  and  Kamal's 

boy  the  dun. 
And   two   have   come   back   to    Fort  Bukloh  where 

there  went  forth  but  one. 
And    when    they   drew   to    the    Quarter-Guard,    full 

twenty  swords  flew  clear — 
There  was  not  a  man  but  carried  his  feud  with  the 

blood  of  the  mountaineer. 
*Ha'    done!    ha'    done!'    said    the    Colonel's    son. 

*Put  up  the  steel  at  your  sides ! 


EAST  AND  WEST  11 

'Last   night   ye    had   struck   at  a  Border  thief — to- 
night 'tis  a  man  of  the  Guides! ' 

Oh,  East  is  East,  and  West  is  West,  and  never  the  two 

shall  meet, 
Till  Earth  and  Sky  stand  presently  at  God's  greai 

Judgment  Seat ; 
But  there  is  neither  East  nor  West,  Border,  nor  Breed, 

nor  Birth, 
When  two  strong  me7i  stand  face  to  face,  tho'  they  come 

from  the  ends  of  the  earth. 


THE    lAST   SUTTEE 

Not  many  years  ago  a  King  died  in  one  of  the  Rajpoot 
States.  His  wives ^  dis7'egarding  the  orders  of  the  E?iglisJi 
against  suttee,  would  have  broken  out  of  the  palace  had 
not  the  gates  been  barred.  But  one  of  them,  disguised  as 
the  King's  favourite  dancing-girl^  passed  through  the  line 
of  guards  and  reached  the  pyre.  There,  her  courage  fail- 
ing, she  prayed  her  cousin,  a  baron  of  the  court,  to  kill 
her.     This  he  did,  not  knowiftg  who  she  was. 

Udai  Chand  lay  sick  to  death 

In  his  hold  by  Gungra  hill. 
All  night  we  heard  the  death-gongs  ring 
For  the  soul  of  the  dying  Rajpoot  King, 
All  night  beat  up  from  the  women's  wing 

A  cry  that  we  could  not  still. 

All  night  the  barons  came  and  went, 

The  lords  of  the  outer  guard : 
All  night  the  cressets  glimmered  pale 
On  Ulwar  sabre  and  Tonk  jczail, 
Mewar  headstall  and  Marwar  mail, 

That  clinked  in  the  palace  yard„ 
12 


THE   LAST  SUTTEE  13 

In  the  Golden  room  on  the  palace  roof 

All  night  he  fought  for  air: 
And  there  was  sobbing  behind  the  screen, 
Rustle  and  whisper  of  women  unseen, 
And  the  hungry  eyes  of  the  Boondi  Queen 

On  the  death  she  might  not  share. 


He  passed  at  dawn — the  death-fire  leaped 

From  ridge  to  river-head, 
From  the  ]\Ialwa  plains  to  the  Abu  scaurs : 
And  wail  upon  wail  went  up  to  the  stars 
Behind  the  grim  zenana-bars. 

When  they  knew  that  the  King  was  dead. 

The  dumb  priest  knelt  to  tie  his  mouth 

And  robe  him  for  the  pyre. 
The  Boondi  Queen  beneath  us  cried : 
'See,  now,  that  we  die  as  our  mothers  died 
'In  the  bridal-bed  by  our  master's  side! 

'Out,  women ! — to  the  fire  ! ' 


We  drove  the  great  gates  home  apace : 
White  hands  were  on  the  sill : 


14  THE   LAST   SUTTEE 

But  ere  the  rush  of  the  unseen  feet 
Had  reached  the  turn  to  the  open  street, 
The  bars  shot  down,  the  guard-drum  beat— 
We  held  the  dove-cot  still. 

A  face  looked  down  in  the  gathering  day, 
And  laughing  spoke  from  the  wall : 

*0h^,  they  mourn  here:  let  me  by — 

*Azizun,  the  Lucknow  nautch-girl,  I? 

*When  the  house  is  rotten,  the  rats  must  fly, 
'And  I  seek  another  thrall. 

'For  I  ruled  the  King  as  ne'er  did  Queen, — 

'To-night  the  Queens  rule  me! 
'Guard  them  safely,  but  let  me  go, 
'Or  ever  they  pay  the  debt  they  owe 
*In  scourge  and  torture ! '     She  leaped  below. 
And  the  grim  guard  watched  her  flee. 

They  knew  that  the  King  had  spent  his  soul 

On  a  North-bred  dancing-girl : 
That  he  prayed  to  a  flat-nosed  Lucknow  god, 
And  kissed  the  ground  where  her  feet  had  trod, 
And  doomed  to  death  at  her  drunken  nod 
And  swore  by  her  lightest  curl. 


THE   LAST   SUTTEE  16 

We  bore  the  King  to  his  fathers'  place, 

Where  the  tombs  of  the  Sun-born  stand : 

Where  the  grey  apes  swing,  and  the  peacocks  preen 

On  fretted  pillar  and  jewelled  screen, 

And    the    wild    boar    couch    in    the    house    of    the 
Queen 
On  the  drift  of  the  desert  sand. 

The  herald  read  his  titles  forth, 

We  set  the  logs  aglow : 
'Friend  of  the  English,  free  from  fear, 
*Baron  of  Luni  to  Jeysulmeer, 
'Lord  of  the  Desert  of  Bikaneer, 

'King  of  the  Jungle, — go !  * 

All  night  the  red  flame  stabbed  the  sky 

With  wavering  wind-tossed  spears : 
And  out  of  a  shattered  temple  crept 
A  woman  who  veiled  her  head  and  wept, 
And  called  on  the  King — but  the  great  King  slept, 

And  turned  not  for  her  tears. 

Small  thought  had  he  to  mark  the  strife — 
Cold  fear  with  hot  desire — 


16  THE    LAST   SUTTEE 

When  thrice  she  leaped  from  the  leaping  flame, 
And  thrice  she  beat  her  breast  for  shame, 
And  thrice  like  a  wounded  dove  she  came 
And  moaned  about  the  fire. 

One  watched,  a  bow-shot  from  the  blaze, 

The  silent  streets  between, 
Who  had  stood  by  the  King  in  sport  and  fray, 
To  blade  in  ambush  or  boar  at  bay, 
And  he  was  a  baron  old  and  grey, 

And  kin  to  the  Boondi  Queen. 

He  said:  'O  shameless,  put  aside 

*The  veil  upon  thy  brow ! 
*Who  held  the  King  and  all  his  land 
*To  the  wanton  will  of  a  harlot's  hand! 
*Will  the  white  ash  rise  from  the  blistered  brand? 

*  Stoop  down,  and  call  him  nowl ' 

Then  she:  *By  the  faith  of  my  tarnished  soul, 

*A11  things  I  did  not  well 
*I  had  hoped  to  clear  ere  the  fire  died, 
*And  lay  me  down  by  my  master's  side 
'To  rule  in  Heaven  his  only  bride, 

'While  the  others  howl  in  Hell. 


THE    LAST   SUTTEE  17 

'But  I  have  felt  the  fire's  breath, 

'And  hard  it  is  to  die! 
*Yet  if  I  may  pray  a  Rajpoot  lord 
*To  sully  the  steel  of  a  Thakur's  sword 
'With  base-born  blood  of  a  trade  abhorred,' — 

And  the  Thakur  answered,  'Ay.' 

He  drew  and  struck :  the  straight  blade  drank 

The  life  beneath  the  breast. 
*I  had  looked  for  the  Queen  to  face  the  flame, 
'But  the  harlot  dies  for  the  Rajpoot  dame — 
'Sister  of  mine,  pass,  free  from  shame. 

'Pass  with  thy  King  to  rest! ' 

The  black  log  crashed  above  the  white : 

The  little  flames  and  lean. 
Red  as  slaughter  and  blue  as  steel. 
That  whistled  and  fluttered  from  head  to  heel. 
Leaped  up  anew,  for  they  found  their  meal 

On  the  heart  of — the  Boondi  Queen  1 


B 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  KING'S  MERCY 

Abdhur  Rahman y  the  Durani  Chief,  of  him  is  the 

story  told. 
His   mercy  fills   the  Khyber  hills — his  grace  h 

manifold; 
He  has  taken  toll  of  the  North  and  the  South — his 

glory  re  ache  th  far, 
And  they  tell  the  tale  of  his  charity  from  Balkh  to 

Kandahar. 

Before   the   old   Peshawur    Gate,   where    Kurd   and 

Kaffir  meet, 
The  Governor    of    Kabul  dealt    the    Justice   of    the 

Street, 
And  that  was  strait  as  running  noose  and  swift  as 

plunging  knife, 
Tho'  he  who  held  the  longer  purse  might  hold  the 

longer  life. 
18 


THE   KING'S   MERCY  19 

There   was   a   hound    of    Hindustan    had    struck    a 

Euzufzai, 
Wherefore  they  spat  upon  his  face  and  led  him  out 

to  die. 
It   chanced   the    King  went    forth    that    hour  when 

throat  was  bared  to  knife; 
The  Kaffir  grovelled  under-hoof  and  clamoured  for 

his  life. 

Then  said  the  King:  'Have  hope,  O  friend!     Yea, 

Death  disgraced  is  hard; 
'Much  honour  shall  be  thine  ' ;  and  called  the  Captain 

of  the  Guard, 
Yar  Khan,  a  bastard  of  the  Blood,   so  city-babble 

saith, 
And  he  was  honoured  of  the  King — the  which  is 

salt  to  Death; 
And  he  was  son  of  Daoud  Shah  the  Reiver  of  the 

Plains, 
And  blood   of   old   Durani    Lords   ran   fire    in   his 

veins; 
And  'twas  to   tame  an  Afghan  pride  nor  Hell   nor 

Heaven  could  bind. 
The  King  would  make  him  butcher  to  a  yelping  cm 

of  Hind. 


20  THE    BALLAD   OF 

*  Strike!     said  the  King.     'King's  blood  art  thou — 

his  death  shall  be  his  pride ! ' 
Then    louder,    that   the    crowd   might  catch:   *Fear 

not — his  arms  are  tied  ! ' 
Yar  Khan  drew  clear  the  Khyber  knife,  and  struck, 

and  sheathed  again. 
*0  man,  thy  will  is  done,'  quoth  he;  'A  King  this 

dog  hath  slain. ' 

Abdhur  RaJunaji,  the  Dura?ii  Chief,  to  the  North 

and  the  South  is  sold. 
The  North  and  the  South  shall  open  their  mouth  to 

a  Ghilzai  flag  unrolled, 
When  the  big  guns  speak  to  the  Khyber  peak^  and 

his  dog-Heratis  fly, 
Ye  have  heard  the  song — How  long?    How  long? 

Wolves  of  the  Abazai! 

That  night  before  the  watch  was  set,  when  all  the 

streets  were  clear, 
The  Governor  of  Kabul  spoke:  *My  King,  hast  thou 

no  fear? 
*Thou  knowest — thou  hast  heard,' — his  speech  died 

at  his  master's  face. 


i 


THE   KINC/S   MERCY  21 

And   grimly   said    the    Afghan    King:    *I    nile    the 

Afghan  race. 
*My  path  is  mine — see  thou  to  thine — to-night  upon 

thy  bed 
*Think  who  there  be  in  Kabul  now  that  clamour  for 

thv  head.' 


That  night  when  all  the  gates  were  shut  to  City  and 

to  Throne, 
Within  a    little   garden-house   the  King   lay   do^^Ti 

alone. 
Before  the  sinking  of  the  moon,  which  is  the  Night 

of  Night, 
Yar   Khan   came    softly   to    the  King  to  make  his 

honour  white. 
The  children  of  the  town  had  mocked  beneath  his 

horse's  hoofs, 
The  harlots  of  the  town  had  hailed  him  'butcher!' 

from  their  roofs. 
But  as  he  groped  against  the  wall,   two  hands  upon 

him  fell, 
The  King  behind  his  shoulder  spoke:  'Dead  man, 

thou  dost  not  well ! 


22  THE   BALLAD   OF 

"Tis  ill  to  jest  with  Kings  by  day  and  seek  a  boon 

by  night; 
'And  that  thou  bearest  in  thy  hand  is  all  too  sharp 

to  write. 
'But  three  days  hence,  if  God  be  good,  and  if  thy 

strength  remain, 
'Thou  shalt  demand  one  boon  of  me  and  bless  me 

in  thy  pain. 
'For  I  am  merciful  to  all,  and  most  of  all  to  thee. 
'My  butcher   of   the   shambles,  rest — no  knife  hast 

thou  for  me  ! ' 

Abdhur  Rahman^  the  Durafii  Chief,  holds  hard  by 

the  South  and  the  Noi'th  ; 
But  the  Ghilzai  knows,  e?'e  the  ?nelti?igstiows,  when 

the  swollen  banks  break  forth. 
When  the  red-coats  crawl  to  the  sungar  wall,  and 

his  Usbeg  lances  fail. 
Ye  have  heard  the  song — How  long?     How  long? 

Wolves  of  the  Zuka  Kheyll 

They  stoned   him    in   the   rubbish-field  when  dawn 

was  in  the  sky, 
According  to  the  written  word,  'See  that  he  do  not 

die.' 


THE   KING\S   MERCY  23 

They   stoned  him  till  the  stones  were    piled  above 

him  on  the  plain, 
And    those    the    labouring    limbs    displaced    they 

tumbled  back  again. 

One  watched  beside  the  dreary  mound  that  veiled 

the  battered  thing, 
And  him  the  King  with  laughter  called  the  Herald 

of  the  King. 

It  was  upon  the  second  night,  the  night  of  Ramazan, 
The  watcher  leaning  earthward  heard   the   message 

of  Yar  Khan. 
From  shattered  breast  through  shrivelled  lips  broke 

forth  the  rattling  breath : 
'Creature  of  God,  deliver  me  from  agony  of  Death.* 

They  sought  the  King  among  his  girls,   and  risked 

their  lives  thereby: 
'Protector  of  the  Pitiful,  give  orders  that  he  die ! ' 

'•Bid  him  endure   until  the  day,'  a  lagging   answer 

came ; 
*The  night  is  short,  and  he  can  pray  and  learn  to 

bless  my  name.' 


24  THE   KING'S   MERCY 

Before  the  dawn  three  times  he  spoke,  and  on  the 

day  once  more : 
'Creature  of  God,  deliver  me  and  bless   the    King 

therefore ! ' 

They  shot  him  at  the  morning  prayer,  to  ease  him 

of  his  pain. 
And  when  he  heard  the  matchlocks  clink,  he  blessed 

the  King  again. 

Which   thing  the  singers   made    a   song  for  all  the 

world  to  sing. 
So  that  the  Outer  Seas  may  know  the  mercy  of  the 

King. 

Abdhur  Rahinan^  the  Durani  Chief,  of  him  is  the 

story  told. 
He  has  opened  his  mouth  to  the  North  and  tJie 

South,  they  have  stuffed  his  mouth  zvith  gold. 
Ye  know  the  truth  of  his  tender  7-uth — and  sweet 

his  favours  are. 
Ye  have  heard  the  song — How  lo?ig?     Hoio  long? 

ffVfn  Balkh  to  Katidahar. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  KING'S  JEST 

When  spring-time  flushes  the  desert  grass, 

Our  kafilas  wind  through  the  Khyber  Pass. 

Lean  are  the  camels  but  fat  the  frails, 

Light  are  the  purses  but  heavy  the  bales, 

As  the  snowbound  trade  of  the  North  comes  down 

To  the  market-square  of  Peshawur  town. 

In  a  turquoise  twilight,  crisp  and  chill, 
A  kafila  camped  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
Then  blue  smoke-haze  of  the  cooking  rose, 
And  tentpeg  answered  to  hammer-nose; 
And  the  picketed  ponies  shag  and  wild, 
Strained  at  their  ropes  as  the  feed  was  piled; 
And  the  bubbling  camels  beside  the  load 
Sprawled  for  a  furlong  adown  the  road; 
And  the  Persian  pussy-cats,  brought  for  sale. 
Spat  at  the  dogs  from  the  camel-bale ; 
And  the  tribesmen  bellowed  to  hasten  the  food; 

25 


26  THE   BALLAD   OF 

And  the  camp-fires  twinkled  by  Fort  Jumrood; 
And  there  fled  on  the  wings  of  the  gathering  dusk 
A  savour  of  camels  and  carpets  and  musk, 
A  murmur  of  voices,  a  reek  of  smoke, 
To  tell  us  the  trade  of  the  Khyber  woke. 

The  lid  of  the  flesh-pot  chattered  high, 

The  knives  were  whetted  and — then  came  I 

To  Mahbub  Ali,  the  muleteer, 

Patching  his  bridles  and  counting  his  gear, 

Crammed  with  the  gossip  of  half  a  year. 

But  Mahbub  Ali  the  kindly  said, 

'Better  is  speech  when  the  belly  is  fed.' 

So  we  plunged  the  hand  to  the  mid-wrist  deep 

In  a  cinnamon  stew  of  the  fat-tailed  sheep. 

And  he  who  never  hath  tasted  the  food. 

By  Allah !  he  knoweth  not  bad  from  good. 

We  cleansed  our  beards  of  the  mutton-grease. 
We  lay  on  the  mats  and  were  filled  with  peace. 
And  the  talk  slid  north,  and  the  talk  slid  south, 
With  the  sliding  pufls  from  the  hookah-mouth. 
Four  things  greater  than  all  things  are,  — 
Women  and  Horses  and  Power  and  War. 
We  spake  of  them  all,  but  the  last  the  most, 


THE    KING'S   JEST  27 

For  I  sought  a  word  of  a  Russian  post, 

Of  a  shifty  promise,  an  unsheathed  sword 

And  a  grey-coat  guard  on  the  Hehnund  ford. 

Then  Mahbub  Ali  lowered  his  eyes 

In  the  fashion  of  one  who  is  weaving  lies. 

Quoth  he:  'Of  the  Russians  who  can  say? 

'When  the  nighi  is  gathering  all  is  grey. 

*But  we  look  that  the  gloom  of  the  night  shall  die 

*In  the  morning  flush  of  a  blood-red  sky. 

'Friend  of  my  heart,  is  it  meet  or  wise 

'To  warn  a  King  of  his  enemies? 

'We  know  what  Heaven  or  Hell  may  bring, 

'But  no  man  knoweth  the  mind  of  the  King. 

'That  unsought  counsel  is  cursed  of  God 

'Attesteth  the  story  of  Wall  Dad. 

'  His  sire  was  leaky  of  tongue  and  pen, 
'  His  dam  was  a  clucking  Khuttuck  hen ; 
'  And  the  colt  bred  close  to  the  vice  of  each, 
•  For  he  carried  the  curse  of  an  unstaunched  speech. 
'  Therewith  madness  —  so  that  he  sought 
'The  favour  of  kings  at  the  Kabul  court ; 
And  travelled,  in  hope  of  honour,  far 
•To  the  line  where  the  grey-coat  squadrons  are. 
'There  have  I  journeyed  too  —  but  I 


28  THE   BALLAD   OF 

*Saw  naught,  said  naught,  and — did  not  die! 
*He  hearked  to  rumour,  and  snatched  at  a  breath 
*0f  "this  one  knoweth"  and  "that  one  saith," — 
'Legends  that  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth 
*0f  a  grey-coat  coming,  and  sack  of  the  South- 

*  These  have  I  also  heard — they  pass 
'With  each  new  spring  and  the  winter  grass. 

*  Hot-foot  southward,  forgotten  of  God, 
'Back  to  the  city  ran  Wali  Dad, 
'Even  to  Kabul — in  full  durbar 

'The  King  held  talk  with  his  Chief  in  War. 

'Into  the  press  of  the  crowd  he  broke, 

'And  what  he  had  heard  of  the  coming  spoke. 

'Then  Gholam  Hyder,  the  Red  Chief,  smiled, 

'As  a  mother  might  on  a  babbling  child; 

'But  those  who  would  laugh  restrained  their  breath, 

'When  the  face  of  the  King  showed  dark  as  death. 

'Evil  it  is  in  full  durbar 

'To  cry  to  a  ruler  of  gathering  war! 

'Slowly  he  led  to  a  peach-tree  small, 

'That  grew  by  a  cleft  of  the  city  wall. 

'And  he  said  to  the  boy:  "They  shall  praise  thy  zeal 

'"So  long  as  the  red  spurt  follows  the  steel. 


THE   KING'S  JEST  29 

"And  the  Russ  is  upon  us  even  now? 

"  Great  is  thy  prudence — await  them,  thou. 

"  Watch  from  the  tree.     Thou  art  young  and  strong, 

"Surely  thy  vigil  is  not  for  long. 

"The  Russ  is  upon  us,  thy  clamour  ran? 

"Surely  an  hour  shall  bring  their  van. 

"  Wait  and  watch.     When  the  host  is  near, 

"Shout  aloud  that  my  men  may  hear." 

Friend  of  my  heart,  is  it  meet  or  wise 

To  warn  a  King  of  his  enemies? 

A  guard  was  set  that  he  might  not  flee — 

A  score  of  bayonets  ringed  the  tree. 

The  peach-bloom  fell  in  showers  of  snow, 

When  he  shook  at  his  death  as  he  looked  below. 

By  the  power  of  God,  who  alone  is  great, 

Till  the  seventh  day  he  fought  with  his  fate. 

Then  madness  took  him,  and  men  declare 

He  mowed  in  the  branches  as  ape  and  bear, 

And  last  as  a  sloth,  ere  his  body  failed. 

And  he  hung  as  a  bat  in  the  forks,  and  wailed, 

And  sleep  the  cord  of  his  hands  untied, 

And  he  fell,  and  was  caught  on  the  points  and  died. 

Heart  of  my  heart,  is  it  meet  or  wise 
To  warn  a  King  of  his  enemies? 


30  THE   KING^S  JEST 

*We  know  what  Heaven  or  Hell  may  bring, 
*But  no  man  knoweth  the  mind  of  the  King. 
'Of  the  grey-coat  coming  who  can  say? 
'When  the  night  is  gathering  all  is  grey. 
'Two  things  greater  than  all  things  are, 
'The  first  is  Love,  and  the  second  War. 
'And  since  we  know  not  how  War  may  prove^ 
'Heart  of  my  heart,  let  us  talk  of  Love ! ' 


WITH  SCINDIA  TO  DELHI 

More  man  a  hundred  years  ago^  in  a  great  battle  fought 
near  Delhi,  an  Indiati  Prince  I'ode  fifty  miles  after  the  day 
was  lost  with  a  beggar-girl,  who  had  loved  him  and  followed 
him  in  all  his  camps,  on  his  saddle-bow.  He  lost  the  girl 
when  almost  within  sight  of  safety.  A  Maratta  trooper 
tells  the  story :  — 

The  wreath   of   banquet  overnight  lay  withered  on 
the  neck, 
Our  hands  and  scarves  were  saffron-dyed  for  signal 
of  despair, 
When  we  went  forth  to  Paniput  to  battle  with  the 
Mlechy — 
Ere  we  came  back  from  Paniput  and  left  a  king- 
dom there. 

Thrice    thirty-thousand  men  were   we    to   force  the 
Jumna  fords — 
The    hawk-winged    horse    of    Damajee,    mailed 
squadrons  of  the  Bhao, 

Copyright,  1892,  V>y  Macmillan  &  Co.  »>1 


32  WITH    SCINDIA   TO   DELHI 

Stark   levies   of    the    southern   hills,    the    Deccan's 
sharpest  swords, 
And    he    the    harlot's   traitor   son   the    goatherd 
Mulhar  Rao ! 


Thrice  thirty-thousand  men  were  we  before  the  mists 
had  cleared, 
The  low  white  mists  of  morning  heard  the  war- 
conch  scream  and  bray; 
We  called  upon  Bhowani  and  we  gripped  them  by 
the  beard. 
We  rolled  upon  them  like  a  flood  and  washed  their 
ranks  away. 


The  children  of  the  hills  of  Khost  before  our  lances 
•ran, 
We  drove  the  black  Rohillas  back  as  cattle  to  the 
pen; 
'Twas  then  we  needed  Mulhar  Rao  to  end  what  we 
began, 
A   thousand  men  had  saved  the  charge;  he   fled 
the  field  with  ten! 


WITH    SCINDIA   TO   DELHI  »tf 

There  was  no  room  to  clear  a  sword — no  power  to 
strike  a  blow, 
For  foot  to  foot,  ay,  breast  to  breast,  the  battle 
held  us  fast — 
Save  where  the  naked  hill  men    ran   and   stabbing 
from  below 
Brought  down  the  horse  and  rider  and  we  trampled 
them  and  passed. 


To    left   the   roar  of   musketry  rang  like    a   falling 
flood- 
To   right  the  sunshine  rippled    red    from    redder 
lance  and  blade — 
Above  the  dark  Upsaras  ^  flew,  beneath  us  plashed  the 
blood. 
And,  bellying  black  against  the  dust,  the  Bhagwa 
Jhanda  swayed. 


I  saw  it  fall  in  smoke  and  fire,  the  banner  of  the 
Bhao; 
T  heard  a  voice  across  the  press  of  one  who  called 
in  vain : — 

1  The  Choosers  of  the  Slain. 
C 


34  WITH   SCINDIA   TO   DELHI 

'Ho!  Anand    Rao    Nimbalkhur    ride!     Get   aid    of 
Mulhar  Rao ! 
*Go  shame  his  squadrons  into  fight — the  Bhao — 
the  Bhao  is  slain ! ' 


Thereat,  as  when  a  sand-bar  breaks  in  clotted  spume 
and  spray — 
When   rain   of    later   autumn  sweeps    the    Jumna 
water-head, 
4  Before  their  charge  from   flank  to  flank   our   riven 
ranks  gave  way; 
But  of  the  waters  of  that  flood  the  Jumna  fords 
ran  red. 


I  held  by  Scindia,  my  lord,  as  close  as  man  might 
hold; 
A  Soobah  of  the  Deccan  asks  no  aid  to  guard  his 
life; 
But   Holkar's    Horse  were    flying,  and  our  chief  est 
chiefs  were  cold, 
And  like  a  flame  among   us    leapt  the  long  lean 
Northern  knife. 


WITH    SCINDIA   TO   DELHI  86 

I  held  by  Scindia — my  lance  from  bult  to  tuft  was 
dyed, 
The  frolh  of  battle  bossed  the  shield  and   roped 
the  bridle-chain — 
What  time  beneath  our  horses'  feet  a  maiden  rose 
and  cried, 
And  clung  to  Scindia,  and  I  turned  a  sword-cut 
from  the  twain. 


(He    set    a    spell    upon    the    maid    in    woodlands 
long  ago, 
A  hunter  by  the  Tapti  banks  she  gave  him  water 
there : 
He  turned  her  heart  to  water,  and  she  followed  to 
her  woe. 
What  need  had  he  of  Lalun  who  had  twenty  maids 
as  fair?) 


Now  in  that  hour  strength  left  my  lord;  he  wrenched 
his  mare  aside; 
He  bound  the  girl  behind  him  and  we  slashed  and 
struggled  free. 


36  WITH    SCINDIA   TO   DELHI 

Across  the  reeling  wreck  of  strife  we  rode  as  shadows 
ride 
From    Paniput    to    Delhi    town,    but   not    alone 
were  we. 


'Twas    Liituf-Ullah    Populzai    laid   horse  upon  our 
track, 
A  swine-fed  reiver  of  the  North  that  lusted  for  the 
maid; 
I  might  have  barred  his  path  awhile,   but  Scindia 
called  me  back, 
And    I — Oh   woe   for    Scindia! — I    listened   and 
obeyed. 


League  after  league  the  formless  scrub  took  shape 
and  glided  by — 
League  after  league  the  white  road  swirled  behind 
the  white  mare's  feet — 
League    after   league,  when  leagues  were  done,  we 
heard  the  Populzai, 
Where  sure  as  Time  and  swift  as  Death  the  tireless 
footfall  beat. 


WITH   SCINDIA   TO   DELHI  87 

Noon's  eye  beheld  that  shame  of  flight,  the  shadows 
fell,  we  fled 
Where  steadfast  as  the  wheeling  kite  he  followed 
in  our  train; 
The  black  wolf  warred  where  we  had  warred,  the 
jackal  mocked  our  dead, 
And  terror  born  of  twilight  tide  made  mad  the 
labouring  brain. 


I  gasped: — *A  kingdom  waits  my  lord;  her  love  is 
but  her  own. 
*A  day  shall  mar,  a  day  shall  cure  for  her,  but  what 
for  thee? 
Cut  loose  the  girl:  he  follows  fast.     Cut  loose  and 
ride  alone ! ' 
Then    Scindia    'tvvixt    his    blistered    lips: — 'My 
Queens'  Queen  shall  she  be ! 


*Of  all  who  ear  my  bread  last  night  'twas  she  alone 
that  came 
*To  seek  her  love  between  the  spears  and  find  her 
crown  therein ! 


38  WITH    SCINDIA   TO   DELHI 

'One  shame  is  mine  to-day,  what  need  the  weight  of 
double  shame? 
'If  once  we  reach  the  Delhi  gate,  though  all  be 
lost,  I  win ! ' 


We  rode — the  white  mare  failed — her  trot  a  stagger- 
ing stumble  grew, — 
The   cooking-smoke   of   even   rose   and  weltered 
and  hung  low; 
And  still  we  heard  the  Populzai  and  still  we  strained 
anew. 
And   Delhi    town  was  very   near,  but  nearer  was 
the  foe. 


Yea,  Delhi  town  was  very  near  when  Lalun  whispered : 
—'Slay! 
'Lord  of  my  life,  the  mare  sinks  fast — stab  deep 
and  let  me  die  ! ' 
But  Scindia  would  not,  and  the  maid  tore  free  and 
flung  away, 
And  turning   as   she  fell  we  heard  the  clattering 
Populzai. 


I 


WITH    SCINDIA    TO    DELHI  39 

Then  Scindia  checked  the  gasping  mare  that  rocked 
and  groaned  for  breath, 
And  wheeled  to  charge  and  plunged  the  knife  a 
hands-breadth  in  her  side — 
The  hunter  and  the  hunted  know  how  that  last  pause 
is  death — 
The  blood  had  chilled  about  her  heart,  she  reared 
and  fell  and  died. 


Our  Gods  were  kind.     Before  he  heard  the  maiden's 
piteous  scream 
A  log  upon  the  Delhi  road,  beneath  the  mare  he 
lay — 
Lost  mistress  and  lost  battle  passed  before  him  like 
a  dream; 
The  darkness  closed  about  his  eyes — I  bore  my 
King  away. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  BOH  DA  THONE 

This  is  the  ballad  of  Boh  Da  TJione, 
Erst  a  Pretender  to  Theebaw's  throne. 
Who  harried  the  district  of  A  la  lone  : 
How  he  met  with  his  fate  a?id  the  V.P.P. 
At  the  hand  of  Harendra  Mukerji, 
Senior  Gomashta,  G.B.T. 

Boh  Da  Thone  was  a  warrior  bold, 

His  sword  and  his  Snider  were  bossed  v/ith  gold.. 

And  the  Peacock  Banner  his  henchmen  bore 
Was  stiff  with  bullion  but  stiffer  with  gore. 

He  shot  at  the  strong  and  he  slashed  at  the  weak 
From  the  Salween  scrub  to  the  Chindwin  teak: 

He  crucified  noble,  he  sacrificed  mean, 
He  filled  old  women  with  kerosene  : 

While  over  the  water  the  papers  cried, 
'The  patriot  fights  for  his  countryside ! ' 
40 


BOH   DA   THONE  41 

But  little  they  cared  for  the  Native  Press, 
The  worn  white  soldiers  in  Khaki  dress, 

Who   tramped  through  the  jungle  and   camped    in 

the  byre, 
Who  died   in   the  swamp  and  were  tombed  in  the 

mire. 

Who  gave  up  their  lives,  at  the  Queen's  Command, 
For  the  Pride  of  their  Race  and  the  Peace  of  the 
Land. 

Now,  first  of  the  foemen  of  Boh  Da  Thone 
Was  Captain  O'Neil  of  the  'Black  Tyrone,' 

And  his  was  a  Company,  seventy  strong, 
Who  hustled  that  dissolute  Chief  alongr. 


'&• 


There    were    lads    from    Galway    and    Louth    and 

Meath 
Who  went  to  their  death  with  a  joke  in  their  teeth, 

And  worshipped  with  fluency,  fervour,  and  zeal 
The  mud  on  the  boot-heels  of  Xrook  '  O'Neil, 

But  ever  a  blight  on  their  labours  lay. 
And  ever  their  quarry  would  vanish  away, 


42  THE   BALLAD   OF 

Till  the  sun-dried  boys  of  the  Black  Tyrone 
Took  a  brotherly  interest  in  Boh  Da  Thone : 

And,  sooth,  if  pursuit  in  possession  ends, 
The  Boh  and  his  trackers  were  best  of  friends. 

The  word  of  a  scout — a  march  by  night — 
A  rush  through  the  mist — a  scattering  fight — 

A  volley  from  cover — a  corpse  in  the  clearing — 
The  glimpse  of  a  loin-cloth  and  heavy  jade  earring — 

The  flare  of  a  village — the  tally  of  slain — 

And  .  .  .  the  Boh  was  abroad  'on  the  raid '  again! 

They  cursed  their  luck  as  the  Irish  will, 
They  gave  him  credit  for  cunning  and  skill. 

They  buried  their  dead,  they  bolted  their  beef, 
And  started  anew  on  the  track  of  the  thief 

Till,  in  place  of  the  'Kalends  of  Greece,'  men  said, 
'When   Crook    and    his   darlings   come    back    with 
the  head.' 

They  had   hunted  the  Boh  from   the    Hills   to    the 

plain — 
He  doubled  and  broke  for  the  hills  again: 


BOH    DA   THONE  43 

They  had  crippled  his  power  for  rapine  and  raid, 
They  had  routed  him  out  of  his  pet  stockade, 

And  at  last,  they  came,  when  the  Day  Star  tired, 
To  a  camp  deserted — a  village  fired. 

A  black  cross  blistered  the  Morning-gold, 
And  the  body  upon  it  was  stark  and  cold. 

The  wind  of  the  dawn  went  merrily  past. 
The  high  grass  bowed  her  plumes  to  the  blast. 

And  out  of  the  grass,  on  a  sudden,  broke 
A  spirtle  of  fire,  a  whorl  of  smoke — 

And  Captain  O'Neil  of  the  Black  Tyrone 
Was  blessed  with  a  slug  in  the  ulna-bone — 
The  gift  of  his  enemy  Boh  Da  Thone. 

(Now  a  slug  that  is  hammered  from  telegraph-wire 
Is  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  and  a  rankling  fire.) 


The  shot-wound  festered — as  shot-wounds  may 
In  a  steaming  barrack  at  Mandalay. 

The  left  arm  throbbed,  and  the  Captain  swore, 
'I'd  like  to  be  after  the  Boh  once  more! ' 


44  THE   BALLAD   OF 

The  fever  held  him — the  Captain  said, 
*I'd  give  a  hundred  to  look  at  his  head! ' 

The  Hospital  punkahs  creaked  and  whirred, 
But  Babu  Harendra  (Gomashta)  heard. 

He  thought  of  the  cane-brake,  green  and  dank, 
That  girdled  his  home  by  the  Dacca  tank. 

He  thought  of  his  wife  and  his  High  School  son, 
He  thought — but  abandoned  the  thought — of  a  gun. 

His  sleep  was  broken  by  visions  dread 
Of  a  shining  Boh  with  a  silver  head. 

He  kept  his  counsel  and  went  his  way, 
And  swindled  the  cartmen  of  half  their  pay. 


And  the  months  went  on,  as  the  worst  must  do, 
And  the  Boh  returned  to  the  raid  anew. 

But  the  Captain  had  quitted  the  long-drawn  strife, 
And  in  far  Simoorie  had  taken  a  wife. 

And  she  was  a  damsel  of  delicate  mould. 
With  hair  like  the  sunshine  and  heart  of  gold. 


BOH    DA   THONE  45 

And  little  she  knew  the  arms  that  embraced 
Had  cloven  a  man  from  the  brow  to  the  waist; 

And  little  she  knew  that  the  loving  lips 
Had  ordered  a  quivering  life's  eclipse, 

And  the  eye  that  lit  at  her  lightest  breath 
Had  glared  unawed  in  the  Gates  of  Death. 

(For  these  be  matters  a  man  would  hide, 
As  a  general  rule,  from  an  innocent  Bride.) 

And  little  the  Captain  thought  of  the  past, 
And,  of  all  men,  Babu  Harendra  last. 


But  slow,  in  the  sludge  of  the  Kathun  road, 
The  Government  Bullock  Train  toted  its  load. 

Speckless  and  spotless  and  shining  with  ghee^ 
In  the  rearmost  cart  sat  the  Babu-jee. 

And  ever  a  phantom  before  him  fled 
Of  a  scowling  Boh  with  a  silver  head. 

Then  the  lead-cart  stuck,  though  the  coolies  slaved. 
And  the  cartmen  flogged  and  the  escort  raved; 


46  THE   BALLAD   OF 

And  out  of  the  jungle,  with  yells  and  squeals, 
Pranced  Boh  Da  Thone,  and  his  gang  at  his  heels ! 

Then  belching  blunderbuss  answered  back 
The  Snider' s  snarl  and  the  carbine's  crack, 

And  the  blithe  revolver  began  to  sing 

To  the  blade  that  twanged  on  the  locking-ring, 

And    the    brown    flesh    blued    where    the    bay 'net 

kissed, 
As  the  steel  shot  back  with  a  wrench  and  a  twist. 

And  the  great  white  bullocks  with  onyx  eyes 
Watched  the  souls  of  the  dead  arise, 

And  over  the  smoke  of  the  fusillade 

The  Peacock  Banner  staggered  and  swayed. 

Oh,  gayest  of  scrimmages  man  may  see 
Is  a  well-worked  rush  on  the  G.B.T. ! 

The  Babu  shook  at  the  horrible  sight. 
And  girded  his  ponderous  loins  for  flight, 

But  Fate  had  ordained  that  the  Boh  should  start 
On  a  lone-hand  raid  of  the  rearmost  cart, 


BOH   DA   THONE  47 

And  out  of  that  cart,  with  a  bellow  of  woe, 
The  Babu  fell — flat  on  the  top  of  the  Boh ! 

For  years  had  Harendra  served  the  State, 
To  the  growth  of  his  purse  and  the  girth   of   his 
pet— 

There  were  twenty  stone,  as  the  tally-man  knows, 
On  the  broad  of  the  chest  of  this  best  of  Bohs. 

And  twenty  stone  from  a  height  discharged 
Are  bad  for  a  Boh  with  a  spleen  enlarged. 


Oh,  short  was  the  struggle — severe  was  the  shock — 
He  dropped  like  a  bullock — he  lay  like  a  block; 


And  the  Babu  above  him,  convulsed  with  fear. 
Heard  the  labouring  life-breath  hissed   out    in  his 
ear. 


And  thus  in  a  fashion  undignified 

The  princely  pest  of  the  Chindwin  died. 


Turn  now  to  Simoorie  where,  lapped  in  his  ease, 
The  Captain  is  petting  the  Bride  on  his  knees, 


48  THE   BALLAD   OF 

Where  the  wliit  of  the  bullet,   the  wounded  man's 

scream 
Are  mixed  as  the  mist  of  some  devilish  dream — 

Forgotten,  forgotten  the  sweat  of  the  shambles 
Where  the  hill-daisy  blooms  and  the  grey  monkey 
gambols, 

From  the  sword-belt  set  free  and  released  from  the 

steel, 
The  Peace  of  the  Lord  is  with  Captain  O'NeiL 

Up  the  hill  to  Simoorie — most  patient  of  drudges — 
The  bags  on  his  shoulder,  the  mail-runner  trudges. 

*For  Captain  O'Neil,  Sahib.     One  hundred  and  ten 
Rupees  to  collect  on  delivery.' 

Then 
(Their  breakfast  was  stopped  while   the  screw-jack 

and  hammer 
Tore  wax-cloth,   split  teak-wood,   and  chipped  out 

the  dammer;) 

Open-eyed,  open-mouthed,  on  the  napery's  snow, 
With  a  crash  and  a  thud,  rolled — the  Head  of  the 
Boh! 


BOH   DA   THONE  49 

And    gummed    to    the    scalp    was    a    letter    which 
ran: — 

*In  Fielding  Force  Service. 
'Encampment, 

'loth  Jan. 

*Dear  Sir, —  I  have  honour  to  send,  as  you  saidy 
'For  final  approval  (see  under)  Boh's  Head; 

*\Vas  took  by  myself  in  most  bloody  affair. 
'By  High  Education  brought  pressure  to  bear. 

*Now  violate  Liberty,  time  being  bad, 

*To  mail  V.P.P.  (rupees  hundred)  Please  add 

'Whatever  Your  Honour  can  pass.     Price  of  Blood 
'Much  cheap  at  one  hundred,  and  children  want  food. 

'So  trusting  Your  Honour  will  somewhat  retain 
'True  love  and  affection  for  Govt.  Bullock  Train, 

'And  show  awful  kindness  to  satisfy  me, 
*I  am, 

'Graceful  Master, 

'Your 

'H.  Mukerji.' 


50  THE   BALLAD   OF 

As  the  rabbit  is  drawn  to  the  rattlesnake's  power, 
As  the  smoker's  eye  fills  at  the  opium  hour, 

As  a  horse  reaches  up  to  the  manger  above, 

As  the  waiting  ear  yearns  for  the  whisper  of  love, 

From  the  arms  of  the  Bride,  iron-visaged  and  slow, 
The  Captain  bent  down  to  the  Head  of  the  Boh. 

And  e'en  as  he  looked  on  the  Thing  where  It  lay 
'Twixt  the  winking  new  spoons  and  the   napkins' 
array. 

The  freed  mind  fled  back  to  the  long-ago  days — 
The     hand-to-hand     scufifle — the     smoke     and    the 
blaze — 

The  forced  march  at  night  and  the  quick  rush  at 

dawn — 
The  banjo  at  twilight,  the  burial  ere  morn — 

The  stench  of  the  marshes — the  raw,  piercing  smell 
When  the  overhand  stabbing-cut  silenced  the  yell — 

The  oaths  of  his  Irish  that  surged  when  they  stood 
Where  the  black  crosses  hung   o'er  the   Kuttamow 
flood. 


BOH    DA   THONE  61 

As  a  derelict  ship  drifts  away  with  the  tide 

The  Captain  went  out  on  the  Past  from  his  Bride, 

Back,  back,  through  the  springs  to  the  chill  of  the 

year, 
When  he  hunted  the  Boh  from  Maloon  to  Tsaleer. 

As  the  shape  of  a  corpse  dimmers  up  through  deep 

water, 
In  his  eye  lit  the  passionless  passion  of  slaughter. 

And  men  who  had  fought  with  O'Neil  for  the  life 
Had  gazed  on  his  face  with  less  dread  than  his  wife. 

For  she  who  had  held  him  so  long  could  not  hold 
him — 

Though  a  four-month  Eternity  should  have  con- 
trolled him — 

But  watched  the  twin   Terror — the  head  turned  to 

head — 
The  scowling,  scarred  Black,  and  the  flushed  savage 

Red— 

The  spirit  that  changed  from  her  knowing  and  flew 

to 
Some  grim  hidden  Past  she  had  never  a  clue  to, 


52  BOH   DA  THONE 

But  It  knew  as  It  grinned,  for  he  touched  it  un- 
fearing, 

And  muttered  aloud,  *So  you  kept  that  jade  ear- 
ring !  ' 

Then  nodded,  and  kindly,  as  friend  nods  to  friend, 
'Old  man,  you  fought  well,  but  you  lost  in  the  end.' 


The  visions  departed,  and  Shame  followed  Passion, 
*He  took  what  I  said  in  this  horrible  fashion, 

W/ write  to  Harendra! '     With  language  unsainted 
The  Captain  came  back  to  the  Bride  .  .  .  who  had 
fainted. 


And  this  is  a  fiction?     No.     Go  to  Simoorie 
And  look  at  their  baby,  a  twelve-month  old  Houri, 

A  pert  little,  Irish-eyed  Kathleen  Mavournin — 
She's  always  about  on  the  Mall  of  a  mornin' — 

And  you'll  see,   if  her  right  shoulder-strap  is  dis- 
placed. 
This:   Gules  upon  argent ,  a  Boh's  Head,  erased! 


THE  LAMENT  OF  THE  BORDER  CATTLE 

THIEF 

O  WOE  is  me  for  the  merry  life 

I  led  beyond  the  Bar, 
And  a  treble  woe  for  my  winsome  wife 

That  weeps  at  Shalimar. 

They  have  taken  away  my  long  jezail, 

My  shield  and  sabre  fine, 
And  heaved  me  into  the  Central  Jail 

For  lifting  of  the  kine. 

The  steer  may  low  within  the  byre, 

The  Jut  may  tend  his  grain, 
But  there'll  be  neither  loot  nor  fire 

Till  I  come  back  again. 

And  God  have  mercy  on  the  Jut 

When  once  my  fetters  fall, 
And  Heaven  defend  the  farmer's  hut 

When  I  am  loosed  from  thrall. 

53 


54  THE   LAMENT   OF   THE 

It's  woe  to  bend  the  stubborn  back 
Above  the  grinching  quern, 

It's  woe  to  hear  the  leg-bar  clack 
And  jingle  when  I  turn! 

But  for  the  sorrow  and  the  shame, 
The  brand  on  me  and  mine, 

I'll  pay  you  back  in  leaping  flame 
And  loss  of  the  butchered  kine. 

For  every  cow  I  spared  before 

In  charity  set  free, 
If  I  may  reach  my  hold  once  more 

I'll  reive  an  honest  three ! 

For  every  time  I  raised  the  low 
That  scared  the  dusty  plain. 

By  sword  and  cord,  by  torch  and  tow 
I'll  light  the  land  with  twain! 

Ride  hard,  ride  hard  to  Abazai, 
Young  Sahib  with  the  yellow  hair — 

Lie  close,  lie  close  as  khuttucks  lie. 
Fat  herds  below  Bonair  ! 


BORDER  CATTLE  THIEF  5i 

The  one  I'll  shoot  at  twilight  tide, 

At  dawn  I'll  drive  the  other; 
The  black  shall  mourn  for  hoof  ami  hide, 

The  white  man  for  his  brother ! 

'Tis  war,  red  war,  I'll  give  you  then, 

War  till  my  sinews  fail, 
For  the  wrong  you  have  done  to  a  chief  of  men 

And  a  thief  of  the  Zukka  Kheyl. 

And  if  I  fall  to  your  hand  afresh 

I  give  you  leave  for  the  sin, 
That  you  cram  my  throat  with  the  foul  pig's  flesh 

And  swing  me  in  the  skin ! 


THE     RHYME    OF    THE    THREE    CAPTAINS 

TJiis  ballad  appea?'s  to  refer  to  one  of  the  exploits  of  tJie 
notorious  Paid  Jo7ies,  the  American  Pirate.  It  is  fo2(?icied 
on  fact. 

,  ,  ,  At  the  close  of  a  winter  day, 
Their  anchors   down,    by  London  town,   the  Three 

Great  Captains  lay. 
And  one   was   Admiral   of    the    North  from  Sol  way 

Firth  to  Skye, 
And  one  was  Lord  of  the  Wessex  coast  and  all  the 

lands  thereby, 
And  one  was  Master  of  the  Thames  from  Limehouse 

to  Blackwall, 
And  he  was  Captain  of   the   Fleet — the   bravest  of 

them  all. 
Their  good  guns  guarded  their  great  grey  sides  that 

were  thirty  foot  in  the  sheer. 
When  there  came  a  certain  trading-brig  with  news 

of  a  privateer. 
50 


THE   THREE   CAPTAINS  57 

Her  rigging  was  rough  with  the  clotted   drift    that 

drives  in  a  Northern  breeze, 
Her  sides  were    clogged    with    the    lazy    weed   that 

spawns  in  the  Eastern  seas. 
Light  she  rode  in  the  rude  tide-rip,  to  left  and  right 

she  rolled. 
And  the  skipper  sat  on  the  scuttle-butt  and  stared 

at  an  empty  hold. 
*I  ha'  paid  Port  dues  for  your  Law,'  quoth  he,  *and 

where  is  the  Law  ye  boast 
'If  I  sail  unscathed  from  a  heathen  port  to  be  robbed 

on  a  Christian  coast? 
'Ye  have  smoked  the  hives  of  the  Laccadives  as  we 

burn  the  lice  in  a  bunk; 
'We  tack  not  now  to  a  Gallang  prow  or  a  plunging 

Pei-ho  junk; 
'I  had  no  fear  but  the  seas  were  clear  as  far  as  a  sail 

might  fare 
'Till  I  met  with  a  lime-washed  Yankee  brig  that  rode 

off  Finisterre. 
'There  were  canvas  blinds  to  his  bow-gun  ports  to 

screen  the  weight  he  bore 
'And  the  signals  ran  for  a  merchantman  from  Sandy 

Hook  to  the  Nore. 


58  THE   RHYME   OF 

*He  would  not  fly  the  Rovers'  flag — the  bloody  or 

the  black, 
'But  now  he  floated  the  Gridiron  and  now  he  flaunted 

the  Jack. 
'He  spoke  of  the  Law  as  he  crimped  my  crew — he 

swore  it  was  only  a  loan; 
'But  when  I  would  ask  for  my  own  again,  he  swore 

it  was  none  of  my  own. 
'He  has  taken  my  little  parrakeets  that  nest  beneath 

the  Line, 
'He  has  stripped  my  rails  of  the  shaddock-frails  and 

the  green  unripened  pine; 
'He  has  taken  my  bale  of  dammer  and  spice  I  won 

beyond  the  seas, 
'He  has  taken  my  grinning  heathen  gods — and  what 

should  he  want  o'  these? 
'My  foremast  would  not  mend  his  boom,  my  deck- 
house patch  his  boats; 
'He  has  whittled  the  two  this  Yank  Yahoo,  to  peddle 

for  shoepeg-oats. 
'I  could  not  fight  for  the  failing  light  and  a  rough 

beam-sea  beside, 
'But  I  hulled  him  once  for  a  clumsy  crimp  and  twice 

because  he  lied. 


THE   THREE   CAPTAINS  59 

'Had    I    had   guns  (as   I  had  goods)    to   work   my 

Christian  harm, 
'I  had  nm  him  up  from   his  quarter-deck  to  trade 

with  his  own  yard-arm; 
*I  had  nailed  his  ears  to  my  capstan-head,  and  ripped 

them  off  with  a  saw, 
*And  soused  them  in  the  bilgewater,  and  served  them 

to  him  raw; 
*I  had  flung  him  blind  in  a  rudderless  boat  to  rot  in 

the  rocking  dark 
*I  had  towed  him  aft  of  his  own  craft,  a  bait  for  his 

brother  shark; 
*I   had    lapped    him    round   with   cocoa  husk,  and 

drenched  him  with  the  oil, 
'And  lashed  him  fast  to  his  own  mast  to  blaze  above 

my  spoil; 
*I  had  stripped  his  hide  for  my  hammock-side,  and 

tasselled  his  beard  i'  the  mesh 
*And  spitted  his  crew  on  the  live  bamboo  that  grows 

through  the  gangrened  flesh; 
*I    had    hove    him    down  by  the  mangroves  brown, 

where  the  mud-reef  sucks  and  draws, 
'Moored  by  the  heel  to  his  own  keel  to  wait  for  the 

land -crab's  claws  1 


60  THE   RHYME   OF 

'He  is  lazar  within  and  lime  without,   ye  can  nose 

him  far  enow, 
*For  he  carries  the  taint  of  a  musky  ship — the  reck 

of  the  slaver's  dhow! ' 
The   skipper   looked   at  the   tiering   guns   and   the 

bulwarks  tall  and  cold, 
And  the    Captains    Three    full    courteously    peered 

down  at  the  ^^utted  hole, 
And   the   Captains    Three    called    courteously    from 

deck  to  scuttle-butt: — 
'Good  Sir,  we  ha'   dealt  with  that  merchantman  or 

ever  your  teeth  were  cut. 
'Your  words  be  words  of  a  lawless  race,  and  the  Law 

it  standeth  thus : 
*He  comes  of  a  race  that  have  never  a  Law,  and  he 

never  has  boarded  us. 
*We   ha'    sold   him   canvas  and  rope  and  spar — we 

know  that  his  price  is  fair, 
*And  we  know  that  he  weeps  for  the  lack  of  a  Law 

as  he  rides  off  Finisterre. 
'And  since  he  is  damned  for  a  gallows-thief  by  you 

and  better  than  you, 
'We  hold  it  meet  that  the  English  fleet  should  know 

that  we  hold  him  true,* 


THE   THREE   CAPTAINS  61 

The    skipper  called   to   the   tall    taffrail:  'And  what 

is  that  to  me? 
*Did    ever    you    hear    of   a    privateer    that    rifled    a 

Seventy-three  ? 
*Do  I  loom  so  large  from  your  quarter-deck  that  I 

lift  like  a  ship  o'  the  Line? 
*He  has  learned  to  run  from  a  shotted  gun  and  harry 

such  craft  as  mine. 
*There  is  never  a  Law  on  the  Cocos  Keys  to  hold 

a  white  man  in, 
*But  we  do  not  steal  the  niggers'  meal,  for  that  is  a 

nigger's  sin. 
'Must  he  have  his  Law  as  a  quid  to  chaw,  or  laid  in 

brass  on  his  wheel  ? 
^Does   he   steal    with    tears    when    he    buccaneers? 

'Fore  Gad,  then,  why  does  he  steal? ' 
The  skipper  bit  on  a  deep-sea  word,  and  the  word  it 

was  not  sweet. 
For  he  could  see  the  Captains  Three  had  signalled 

to  the  Fleet. 
But  three  and  two,  in  white  and  blue,  the  whimpering 

flags  began : 
*We  have  heard  a  tale  of  a  foreign  sail,  but  he  is  a 

merchantman. ' 


62  THE   RHYME   OF 

The  skipper  peered  beneath  his  palm  and  swore  by 

the  Great  Horn  Spoon, 
*'Fore  Gad,   the  Chaplain  of  the  Fleet  would  bless 

my  picaroon ! ' 
By  two  and  three  the  flags   blew  free   to   lash   the 

laughing  air, 
*We  have  sold  our  spars  to  the  merchantman — we 

know  that  his  price  is  fair. ' 
The  skipper  winked  his  Western  eye,  and  swore  by 

a  China  storm :  — 
*They  ha'  rigged  him  a  Joseph's  jury-coat  to  keep 

his  honour  warm.  * 
The  halliards  twanged  against  the  tops,   the  bunting 

bellied  broad. 
The  skipper  spat  in  the  empty  hold  and  mourned 

for  a  wasted  cord. 
Masthead — masthead,   the  signal   sped   by  the  line 

o'  the  British  craft; 
The  skipper  called  to  his  Lascar  crew,  and  put  her 

about  and  laughed : — 
*It's  mainsail  haul,  my  bully  boys  all — we'll  out  to 

the  seas  again; 
*Ere  they  set  us  to  paint  their  pirate  saint,  or  scrub 

at  his  grapnel-chain 


THE   THREE   CAPTAINS  63 

•It's  fore-sheet  free,  with  her  head  to  the  sea,  and 

the  swing  of  the  unbought  brine — 
*We'll   make   no   sport   in  an  English  court  till  we 

come  as  a  ship  o'  the  Line, 
*TiIl  we  come  as  a  ship  o'    the  Line,   my  lads,   of 

thirty  foot  in  the  sheer, 
'Lifting  again  from  the  outer  main  with  news  of  a 

privateer; 
*  Flying  his  pluck  at  our  mizzen-truck  for  weft  of 

Admiralty, 
'Heaving  his  head  for  our  dipsy-lead  in  sign  that  we 

keep  the  sea. 
'Then  fore-sheet  home  as  she  lifts  to  the  foam — we 

stand  on  the  outward  tack 
*We  are  paid  in  the  coin  of  the  white  man's  trade — 

the  bezant  is  hard,  ay,  and  black. 
'The  frigate-bird  shall  carry  my  word  to  the  Kling 

and  the  Orang-Laut 
'How  a  man  may  sail  from  a  heathen  coast  to  be 

robbed  in  a  Christian  port; 
'How  a  man  may  be  robbed  in  Christian  port  while 

Three  Great  Captains  there 
'Shall  dip  their  flag  to  a  slaver's  rag — to  show  that  his 

trade  is  fair  I ' 


THE    BALLAD    OF    THE    'CLAMPHERFJOWN 

It  was  our  war-ship  'Clampherdown  * 

Would  sweep  the  Channel  clean, 
Wherefore  she  kept  her  hatches  close 
When  the  merry  Channel  chops  arose. 
To  save  the  bleached  marine. 

She  had  one  bow-gun  of  a  hundred  ton, 

And  a  great  stern-gun  beside; 
They  dipped  their  noses  deep  in  the  sea, 
Thy  racked  their  stays  and  staunchions  free 

In  the  wash  of  the  wind-whipped  tide. 

It  was  our  war-ship  '  Clampherdown, ' 

Fell  in  with  a  cruiser  light 
That  carried  the  dainty  Hotchkiss  gun 
And  a  pair  o'  heels  wherewith  to  run, 

From  the  grip  of  a  close-fought  fight, 

64 


i 


THE   'CLAMPHERDOWN'  65 

She  opened  fire  at  seven  miles — 

As  ye  shoot  at  a  bobbing  cork — 
And  once  she  fired  and  twice  she  fired, 
Till  the  bow-gun  drooped  like  a  lily  tired 

That  lolls  upon  the  stalk. 

'Captain,  the  bow-gun  melts  apace, 

'The  deck-beams  break  below, 
"Twere  well  to  rest  for  an  hour  or  twain, 
*  And  botch  the  shattered  plates  again. ' 

And  he  answered,  'Make  it  so.' 

She  opened  fire  within  the  mile — 

As  ye  shoot  at  the  flying  duck — 
And  the  great  stern-gun  shot  fair  and  true. 
With   the   heave  of  the   ship,   to  the  stainless 
blue. 

And  the  great  stern-turret  stuck. 

'Captain,  the  turret  fills  with  steam, 

'The  feed-pipes  burst  below — 

'You  can  hear  the  hiss  of  helpless  ram, 

'You  can  hear  the  twisted  runners  jam.' 

And  he  answered,  'Turn  and  go ! ' 
£ 


66  THE   BALLAD   OF 

It  was  our  war-ship  '  Clampherdown, ' 

And  grimly  did  she  roll ; 
Swung  round  19  take  the  cruiser's  fire 
As  the  White  Whale  faces  the  Thresher's  ire, 

When  they  war  by  the  frozen  Pole. 


'Captain,  the  shells  are  falling  fast, 

^And  faster  still  fall  we; 
*And  it  is  not  meet  for  English  stock, 
*To  bide  in  the  heart  of  an  eight-day  clock, 

*The  death  they  cannot  see.' 

'Lie  down,  lie  down  my  bold  A.B., 

'We  drift  upon  her  beam; 
'We  dare  not  ram  for  she  can  run; 
'And  dare  ye  fire  another  gun, 

'And  die  in  the  peeling  steam? ' 

It  was  our  war-ship  'Clampherdown  * 

That  carried  an  armour-belt; 
But  fifty  feet  at  stern  and  bow, 
Lay  bare  as  the  paunch  of  the  purser's  sow, 

To  the  hail  of  the  Nordenfeldt. 


THE   'CLAMPHERDOVVN'  67 

'Captain,  they  lack  us  through  and  through; 

'The  chilled  steel  bolts  are  swift! 
*We  have  emptied  the  bunkers  in  open  sea, 
'Their  shrapnel  bursts  where  our  coal  should  be.' 

And  he  answered,  'Let  her  drift.' 

It  was  our  war-ship  'Clampherdown,' 

Swung  round  upon  the  tide, 
Her  two  dumb  guns  glared  south  and  north, 
And  the  blood  and  the  bubbling  steam  ran  forth, 

And  she  ground  the  cruiser's  side. 

'Captain,  they  cry,  the  fight  is  done, 

'They  bid  you  send  your  sword.' 
And  he  answered,  'Grapple  her  stern  and  bow. 
'They  have  asked  for  the  steel.     They  shall  have  it 
now; 

'Out  cutlasses  and  board! ' 

It  was  our  war-ship  'Clampherdown,' 

Spewed  up  four  hundred  men; 
And  the  scalded  stokers  yelped  delight. 
As  they  rolled  in  the  waist  and  heard  the  fight, 

Stamp  o'er  their  steel-walled  pen. 


68  THE   'CLAMPHERDOWN' 

They  cleared  the  cruiser  end  to  end, 

From  conning-tower  to  hold. 
They  fought  as  they  fought  in  Nelson's  fleet; 
They  were  stripped  to  the  waist,  they  were  bare  to 
the  feet. 

As  it  was  in  the  days  of  old. 


It  was  the  sinking  'Clampherdown ' 

Heaved  up  her  battered  side — 
And  carried  a  million  pounds  in  steel, 
To  the  cod  and  the  corpse-fed  conger-eel, 
And  the  scour  of  the  Channel  tide. 

It  was  the  crew  of  the  'Clampherdown  * 

Stood  out  to  sweep  the  sea, 
On  a  cruiser  won  from  an  ancient  foe, 
As  it  was  in  the  days  of  long-ago. 

And  as  it  still  shall  be. 


THE   BALLAD   OF   THE   'BOLIVAR' 

Seven  Dieji  from  all  the  world ^  back  to  Docks  again, 
Rolling  down  the  Ratcliffe  Road  drunk  and  raising 

Cain  : 
Give  the  girls  another  dri?ik  fore  we  sign  away — 
We  that  took  the  ^Bolivar '  out  across  the  Bay  / 

We   put    out    from    Sunderland   loaded   down  with 
rails; 
We    put    back    to    Sunderland    'cause    our    cargo 
shifted; 
We    put    out    from    Sunderland — met    the    winter 
gales — 
Seven   days   and   seven   nights    to    the    Start    we 
drifted. 

Racketing  her  rivets  loose,   smoke-stack  white 

as  snow, 
All  the  coals  adrift  a  deck,  half  the  rails  below 

69 


70  THE    BALLAD   OF 

Leaking    like    a    lobster-pot,    steering    like    a 

dray — 
Out  we  took  the  'Bolivar,'  out  across  the  Bay! 

One  by  one  the  Lights  came  up,  winked  and  let  us 
by; 
Mile  by  mile  we  waddled  on,    coal  and  fo'c'sle 
short; 
Met   a   blow  that   laid   us  down,  heard  a  bulkhead 
fly; 
Left  The  Wolf  behind  us  with  a  two  foot-list  to 
port. 

Trailing  like  a  wounded  duck,  working  out  her 

soul; 
Clanging  like  a  smithy-shop  after  every  roll; 
Just  a  funnel  and  a  mast  lurching  through  the 

spray — 
So  we  threshed  the  *  Bolivar  '  out  across  the  Bay ! 

Felt  her  hog   and   felt   her  sag,  betted  when  she'd 
break; 
Wondered  every  time  she  raced  if  she'd  stand  the 
shock; 


i 


THE   'BOLIVAR'  71 

Heard  the  seas  like  drunken  men  pounding  at  her 
strake; 
Hoped    the    Lord    'ud    keep    his    thumb    on    the 
plummer-block. 

Banged  against  the  iron  decks,  bilges  choked 
with  coal; 

Flayed  and  frozen  foot  and  hand,  sick  of  heart 
and  soul; 

'Last  we  prayed  she'd  buck  herself  into  Judg- 
ment Day — 

Hi!  we  cursed  the  'Bolivar'  knocking  round 
the  Bay ! 

Oh !  her  nose  flung  up  to  sky,  groaning  to  be  still — 
Up  and  down  and  back  we  went,  never  time  for 
breath; 
Then  the  money  paid  at  Lloyd's  caught  her  by  the 
heel, 
And  the  stars  ran  round  and  round  dancin'  at  our 
death. 

Aching  for  an  hour's  sleep,  dozing  off  between; 
Heard  the  rotten  rivets  draw  when  she  took  it 
greenj 


72  THE    BALLAD    UF 

Watched  the  compass  chase  its  tail  like  a  cat  at 

play- 
That  was  on  the  'Bolivar,'  south  across  the  Bay. 

Once    we  saw   between    the    squalls,    lyin'    head   to 
swell — 
Mad  with  work  and  weariness,  wishin'  they  was 
we — 
Some    damned    Liner's    lights   go    by  like   a  grand 
hotel; 
Cheered    her    from    the    'Bolivar,'    swampin'    in 
the  sea. 


Then    a    greyback    cleared    us    out,    then    the 

skipper  laughed; 
*Boys,    the   wheel    has   gone   to    Hell — rig    the 

winches  aft ! 
'Yoke  the  kicking  rudder-head — get  her  under 

way ! ' 
So  we  steered  her,  pulley-haul,  out  across  the 

Bay! 

Just  a  pack  o'  rotten  plates  puttied  up  with  tar, 
In  we  came,  an'  time  enough  'cross  Bilbao  Bar. 


THE   *  BOLIVAR'  73 

Overloaded,  undermanned,   meant    to    founder, 

we 
Euchred    God    Almighty's    storm,    bluffed    the 

Eternal  Sea! 

Seven  tnenfrom  all  the  world ,  back  to  town  again, 
Rollin'  down  the  Ratcliffe  Road  drunk  and  raistfig 

Gain  : 
Seven  men  from  out  of  Hell.     Ain't  the  owners  gay^ 
'  Cause  we  took  the  ''Bolivar '  safe  across  the  Bay  ? 


THE   LOST   LEGION 

There's  a  Legion  that  never  was  'listed, 

That  carries  no  colours  or  crest, 
But,  split  in  a  thousand  detachments. 

Is  breaking  the  road  for  the  rest. 
Our  fathers  they  left  us  their  blessing — 

They  taught  us,  and  groomed  us,  and  crammed ; 
But  we've  shaken  the  Clubs  and  the  Messes 

To  go  and  find  out  and  be  damned, 

Dear  boys  ! 

To  go  and  get  shot  and  be  damned. 

So  some  of  us  chevy  the  slaver. 

And  some  of  us  cherish  the  black. 
And  some  of  us  hunt  on  the  Oil  Coast, 

And  some  on — the  Wallaby  track : 
And  some  of  us  drift  to  Sarawak, 

And  some  of  us  drift  up  The  Fly, 
And  some  share  our  tucker  with  tigers. 

And  some  with  the  gentle  Masai, 

Dear  boys  ! 

Take  tea  with  the  giddy  Masai. 

74  Copyright,  1893,  by  Macmillan  &  Co. 


THE    LOST    LEGION  75 

We've  painted  The  Islands  vermilion, 

We've  pearled  on  half-shares  in  the  Bay, 
We've  shouted  on  seven-ounce  nuggets, 

We've  starved  on  a  Kanaka's  pay. 
We've  laughed  at  the  world  as  we  found  it, — 

Its  women  and  cities  and  men — 
From  Say  Yid  Burgash  in  a  tantrum 

To  the  smoke- reddened  eyes  of  Loben, 

Dear  boys  ! 

We've  a  little  account  with  Loben. 

We  opened  the  Chinaman's  oil-well, 

But  the  dynamite  didn't  agree, 
And  the  people  got  up  and  fan-kwaied  us, 

And  we  ran  from  Ichang  to  the  sea. 
Yes,  somehow  and  somewhere  and  always 

We  were  first  when  the  trouble  began. 
From  a  lottery-row  in  Manila 

To  an  I.  D.  B.  race  on  the  Pan, 

Dear  boys  ! 

With  the  Mounted  Police  on  the  Pan. 

We  preach  in  advance  of  the  Army, 

We  skirmish  ahead  of  the  Church, 
With  never  a  gunboat  to  help  us 

When  we're  scuppered  and  left  in  the  lurch. 


76  THE   LOST   LEGION 

But  we  know  as  the  cartridges  finish 
And  we're  filed  on  our  last  little  shelves, 

That  the  Legion  that  never  was  'listed 
Will  send  us  as  good  as  ourselves, 

(Good  men  !) 
Five  hundred  as  good  as  ourselves. 

Then  a  health  (we  must  drink  it  in  whispers), 

To  our  wholly  unauthorised  horde — 
To  the  line  of  our  dusty  foreloopers, 

The  Gentlemen  Rovers  abroad. 
Yes,  a  health  to  ourselves  ere  we  scatter. 

For  the  steamer  won't  wait  for  the  train, 
And  the  Legion  that  never  was  'listed 
Goes  back  into  quarters  again. 

'Regards  ! 
Goes  back  under  canvas  again. 

Hurrah  ! 
The  swag  and  the  billy  again. 

Here's  how ! 
The  trail  and  the  packhorse  again. 

Salue  ! 
The  trek  and  the  lager  again. 


THE   SACRIFICE   OF   ER-HEB 

Er-Heb  beyond  the  Hills  of  Ao-Safai 
Bears  witness  to  the  truth,  and  Ao-Safai 
Hath  told  the  men  of  Gorukh.     Thence  the  tale 
Conies  westward  o^er  the  peaks  to  India. 

The  story  of  Bisesa,  Armod's  child, — 
A  maiden  plighted  to  the  Chief  in  War, 
The  Man  of  Sixty  Spears  who  held  the  Pass 
That  leads  to  Thibet,  but  to-day  is  gone 
To  seek  his  comfort  of  the  God  called  Biidh 
The  Silent — showing  how  the  Sickness  ceased 
Because  of  her  who  died  to  save  the  tribe. 

Taman  is  One  and  greater  than  us  all, 

Taman  is  One  and  greater  than  all  Gods: 

Taman  is  Two  in  One  and  rides  the  sky, 

Cur^-ed  like  a  stallion's  croup,  from  dusk  to  dawTi, 

And  drums  upon  it  with  his  heels,  whereby 

Is  bred  the  neighing  thunder  in  the  hills. 

Copyright,  1892,  by  Macmillan  &  Co.  77 


78  THE   SACRIFICE   OF   ER-HEB 

This  is  Taman,  the  God  of  all  Er-Heb, 

Who  was  before  all  Gods,  and  made  all  Gods, 

And  presently  will  break  the  Gods  he  made, 

And  step  upon  the  Earth  to  govern  men 

Who    give    him     milk-dry     ewes     and     cheat    his 

Priests, 
Or  leave  his  shrine  unlighted — as  Er-Heb 
Left  it  unlighted  and  forgot  Taman, 
When  all  the  Valley  followed  after  Kysh 
And  Yabosh,  little  Gods  but  very  wise, 
And  from  the  sky  Taman  beheld  their  sin. 

He  sent  the  Sickness  out  upon  the  hills 

The  Red  Horse  Sickness  with  the  iron  hooves, 

To  turn  the  Valley  to  Taman  again. 

And  the  Red  Horse  snuffed  thrice  into  the  wind, 
The  naked  wind  that  had  no  fear  of  him; 
And  the  Red  Horse  stamped  thrice  upon  the  snow, 
The  naked  snow  that  had  no  fear  of  him; 
And  the  Red  Horse  went  out  across  the  rocks 
The  ringing  rocks  that  had  no  fear  of  him; 
And    downward,    where    the   lean   birch   meets   the 
snow 


THE   SACRIFICE  OF  ER-HEB  79 

And  downward,  where  the  grey  pine  meets  the  birch, 
And  downward,  where  the  dwarf  oak  meets  the  pine, 
Till  at  his  feet  our  cup-like  pastures  lay. 

That  night,  the  slow  mists  of  the  evening  dropped, 

Dropped  as  a  cloth  upon  a  dead  man's  face, 

And  weltered  in  the  valley,  bluish-white 

Like  water  very  silent — spread  abroad, 

Like  water  very  silent,  from  the  Shrine 

Unlighted  of  Taman  to  where  the  stream 

Is  dammed  to  fill  our  cattle-troughs — sent  up 

White  waves  that  rocked  and  heaved  and  then  were 

still. 
Till  all  the  Valley  glittered  like  a  marsh. 
Beneath  the  moonlight,  filled  with  sluggish  mist 
Knee-deep,  so  that  men  waded  as  they  walked. 

That  night,  the  Red  Horse  grazed  above  the  Dam, 
Beyond  the  cattle-troughs.     Men  heard  him  feed. 
And  those  that  heard  him  sickened  where  they  lay. 

Thus  came  the  sickness  to  Er-Heb,  and  slew 
Ten  men,  strong  men,  and  of  the  women  four; 
And  the  Red  Horse  went  hillward  with  the  dawn, 
But  near  the  cattle-troughs  his  hoof-prints  lay. 


80  THE    SACRIFICE   OF   ER-HEB 

That  night,  the  slow  mists  of  the  evening  dropped, 
Dropped  as  a  cloth  upon  the  dead,  but  rose 
A  little  higher,  to  a  young  girl's  height; 
Till  all  the  valley  glittered  like  a  lake, 
Beneath  the  moonlight,  filled  with  sluggish  mist. 


That  night,  the  Red  Horse  grazed  beyond  the  Dam 
A  stone's  throw  from  the  troughs.     Men  heard  hira 

feed. 
And  those  that  heard  him  sickened  where  they  lay. 
Thus  came  the  sickness  to  Er-Heb,  and  slew 
Of  men  a  score,  and  of  the  women  eight, 
And  of  the  children  two. 

Because  the  road 
To  Gorukh  was  a  road  of  enemies. 
And  Ao-Safai  was  blocked  with  early  snow. 
We  could  not  flee  from  out  the  Valley.     Death 
Smote  at  us  in  a  slaughter-pen,  and  Kysh 
Was  mute  as  Yabosh,  though  the  goats  were  slain; 
And  the  Red  Horse  grazed  nightly  by  the  stream. 
And  later,  outward,  towards  the  Unlighted  Shrine, 
And    those    that    heard    him    sickened    where   they 
lay. 


THE   SACRIFICE   OF   ER-IIEB  81 

Then  said  Bisesa  to  the  Priests  at  dusk, 

When  the  white  mist  rose  up  breast-high  and  choked 

The  voices  in  the  houses  of  the  dead: — 

*Yabosh  and  Kysh  avail  not.     If  the  Horse 

'Reach  the  Unlighted  Shrine  we  surely  die. 

*Ye  have  forgotten  of  all  Gods  the  Chief 

*Taman !  *     Here  rolled  the  thunder  through  the  Hill. 

And  Yabosh  shook  upon  his  pedestal. 

*Ye  have  forgotten  of  all  Gods  the  chief 

*Too  long.'     And  all  were  dumb  save  one  who  cried 

On  Yabosh  with  the  Sapphire  'twixt  His  knees 

But  found  no  answer  in  the  smoky  roof 

And,  being  smitten  of  the  sickness  died 

Before  the  altar  of  the  Sapphire  Shrine. 


Then  said  Bisesa: — 'I  am  near  to  Death, 
*And  have  the  Wisdom  of  the  Grave  for  gift 
'To  bear  me  on  the  path  my  feet  must  tread. 
'If  there  be  wealth  on  earth,  then  I  am  rich, 
'For  Armod  is  the  first  of  all  Er-Heb; 
'If  there  be  beauty  on  the  earth,' — her  eyes 
Dropped  for  a  moment  to  the  temple  floor, — 
'Ye  know  that. I  am  fair.     If  there  be  Love, 
*Ye  know  that  love  is  mine.'     The  Chief  in  War, 

F 


82  THE   SACRIFICE   OF   ER-HEB 

The  Man  of  Sixty  Spears,  broke  from  the  press, 

And  would  have  clasped  her,  but  the  Priests  with- 
stood. 

Saying: — *She  has  a  message  from  Taman.* 

Then  said  Bisesa : — '  By  my  wealth  and  love 

'And  beauty,  I  am  chosen  of  the  God 

*Taman.'  Here  rolled  the  thunder  through  the 
Hills 

And  Kysh  fell  forward  on  the  Mound  of  Skulls. 


In  darkness  and  before  our  Priests,  the  maid 
Between  the  altars,  cast  her  bracelets  down. 
Therewith  the  heavy  earrings  Armod  made. 
When  he  was  young,  out  of  the  water-gold 
Of  Gorukh — threw  the  breast-plate  thick  with  jade 
Upon  the  turquoise  anklets — put  aside 
The  bands  of  silver  on  her  brow  and  neck; 
And  as  the  trinkets  tinkled  on  the  stones, 
The  Thunder  of  Taman  lowed  like  a  bull. 


Then  said  Bisesa  stretching  out  her  hands. 
As  one  in  darkness  fearing  Devils: — 'Help! 
*0  Priests,  I  am  a  woman  very  weak. 


THE   SACRIFICE   OF   ER-HEB  83 

*And  who  am  T  to  know  the  will  of  Gods? 
*Taman  hath  called  me — whither  shall  I  go? ' 
The  Chief  in  War,  the  Man  of  Sixty  Spears 
Howled  in  his  torment  fettered  by  the  Priests 
But  dared  not  come  to  her  to  drag  her  forth, 
And  dared  not  lift  his  spear  against  the  Priests. 
Then  all  men  wept. 

There  was  a  Priest  of  Kysh 
Bent  with  a  hundred  winters,  hairless,  blind 
And  taloned  as  the  great  Snow-Eagle  is. 
His  seat  was  nearest  to  the  altar-fires,. 
And  he  was  counted  dumb  among  the  Priests. 
But,  whether  Kysh  decreed,  or  from  Taman 
The  impotent  tongue  found  utterance  we  know 
As  little  as  the  bats  beneath  the  eaves. 
He  cried  so  that  they  heard  who  stood  without : — 
'To  the  Unlighted  Shrine  ! '  and  crept  aside 
Into  the  shadow  of  his  fallen  God 
And  whimpered,  and  Bisesa  went  her  way. 

That  night,  the  slow  mists  of  the  evening  dropped. 
Dropped  as  a  cloth  upon  the  dead,  and  rose 
Above  the  roofs,  and  by  the  Unlighted  Shrine 


84  THE   SACRIFICE   OF  ER-HEB 

Lay  as  the  slimy  water  of  the  troughs 
When  murrain  thins  the  cattle  of  Er-Heb : 
And   through  the  mist  men  heard   the   Red  Horse 
feed. 

In  Armod's  house  they  burned  Bisesa's  dower, 
And  killed  her  black  bull  Tor,  and  broke  her  wheel, 
And  loosed  her  hair,  as  for  the  marriage-feast 
With  cries  more  loud  than  mourning  for  the  dead. 

Across  the  fields,  from  Armod's  dwelling-place, 

We  heard  Bisesa  weeping  where  she  passed 

To    seek    the    Unlighted   Shrine;    the    Red    Horse 

neighed 
And  followed  her,  and  on  the  river-mint 
His  hooves  struck  dead  and  heavy  in  our  ears. 

Out  of  the  mists  of  evening,  as  the  star 

Of  Ao-Safai  climbs  through  the  black  snow-blur 

To  show  the  Pass  is  clear,  Bisesa  stepped 

Upon  the  great  grey  slope  of  mortised  stone. 

The  Causeway  of  Taman.     The  Red  Horse  neighed 

Behind  her  to  the  Unlighted  Shrine — then  fled 

North  to  the  Mountain  where  his  stable  lies. 


THE   SACRIFICE   OF   ER-HEB  85 

They  know  who  dared  the  anger  of  Taman, 

And  watched  that  night  above  the  clinging  mists, 

Far  up  the  hill,  Bisesa's  passing  in. 

She  set  her  hand  upon  the  carven  door. 
Fouled  by  a  myriad  bats,  and  black  with  time. 
Whereon  is  graved  the  Glory  of  Taman 
In  letters  older  than  the  Ao-Safai ; 
And  twice  she  turned  aside  and  twice  she  wept, 
Cast  down  upon  the  threshold,  clamouring 
For  him  she  loved — the  Man  of  Sixty  Spears, 
And  for  her  father, — and  the  black  bull  Tor 
Hers  and  her  pride.     Yea,  twice  she  turned  away 
Before  the  awful  darkness  of  the  door, 
And  the  great  horror  of  the  Wall  of  Man 
Where  Man  is  made  the  plaything  of  Taman, 
An  Eyeless  Face  that  waits  above  and  laughs. 

But  the  third  time  she  cried  and  put  her  palms 
Against  the  hewn  stone  leaves,  and  prayed  Taman 
To  spare  Er-Heb  and  take  her  life  for  price. 

They  know  who  watched,  the  doors  were  rent  apart 
And  closed  upon  Bisesa,  and  the  rain 


86  THE   SACRIFICE   OF  ER-HEB 

Broke  like  a  flood  across  the  Valley,  washed 
The  mist  away;  but  louder  than  the  rain 
The  thunder  of  Taman  filled  men  with  fear. 


Some  say  that  from  the  Unlighted  Shrine  she  cried 

For  succour,  very  pitifully,  thrice, 

And  others  that  she  sang  and  had  no  fear. 

And  some  that  there  was  neither  song  nor  cry, 

But  only  thunder  and  the  lashing  rain. 

Howbeit,  in  the  morning,  men  rose  up, 
Perplexed  with  horror,  crowding  to  the  Shrine, 
And  when  Er-Heb  was  gathered  at  the  doors 
The  Priests  made  lamentation  and  passed  in 
To  a  strange  Temple  and  a  God  they  feared 
But  knew  not. 

From  the  crevices  the  grass 
Had  thrust  the  altar-slabs  apart,  the  walls 
Were    grey    with    stains    unclean,     the    roof -beams 

swelled 
With  many-coloured  growth  of  rottenness, 
And  lichen  veiled  the  Image  of  Taman 
In  leprosy.     'J'he  Basin  of  the  Blood 


THE    SACRIFICE   OF   ER-HEB  87 

Above  the  altar  held  the  morning  sun 
A  winking  ruby  on  its  heart;  below, 
Face  hid  in  hands,  the  maid  Bisesa  lay. 

Er-Heb  beyond  the  Hills  of  Ao-Safai 
Bears  witness  to  the  truth,  and  Ao-Safai 
Hath  told  the  men  of  Goritkh.     TJience  the  tale 
Comes  westward  o^er  the  peaks  to  India, 


THE   DOVE   OF    DACCA 

The  freed  dove  flew  to  the  Rajah's  tower — 
Fled  from  the  slaughter  of  Moslem  kings — 

And  the  thorns  have  covered  the  city  of  Gaur. 
Dove — dove — oh,  homing  dove  ! 

Little  white  traitor,  with  woe  on  thy  wings  ! 

The  Rajah  of  Dacca  rode  under  the  wall ; 

He  set  in  his  bosom  a  dove  of  flight — 
"  If  she  return,  be  sure  that  I  fall." 

Dove — dove — oh,  homing  dove  ! 
Pressed  to  his  heart  in  the  thick  of  the  fight. 

"  Fire  the  palace,  the  fort,  and  the  keep — 

Leave  to  the  foeman  no  spoil  at  all. 
In  the  flame  of  the  palace  lie  down  and  sleep 

If  the  dove,  if  the  dove — if  the  homing  dove 
Come  and  alone  to  the  palace  wall." 

The  Kings  of  the  North  they  were  scattered  abroad- 
The  Rajah  of  Dacca  he  slew  them  all. 

Hot  from  slaughter  he  stooped  at  the  ford. 

And  th»  dove — the  dove — oh,  the  homing  dove  ! 

She  thought  of  her  cote  on  the  palace  wall. 

88  Copyright,  1893,  by  Macmillan  &  Co. 


THE   DOVE   OF   DACCA  89 

She  opened  her  wings  and  she  flew  away — 

Fluttered  away  beyond  recall ; 
She  came  to  the  palace  at  break  of  day. 

Dove — dove — oh,  homing  dove  ! 
Flying  so  fast  for  a  kingdom's  fall. 

The  Queens  of  Dacca  they  slept  in  flame — 

Slept  in  the  flame  of  the  palace  old — 
To  save  their  honour  from  Moslem  shame. 

And  the  dove — the  dove — oh,  the  homing  dove  ! 
She  cooed  to  her  young  where  the  smoke-cloud  rolled. 

The  Rajah  of  Dacca  rode  far  and  fleet, 

Followed  as  fast  as  a  horse  could  fly, 
He  came  and  the  palace  was  black  at  his  feet ; 

And  the  dove — the  dove — the  homing  dove, 
Circled  alone  in  the  stainless  sky. 

So  the  dove  flew  to  the  Rajah's  tower — 
Fled  from  the  slaughter  of  Moslem  kings ; 

So  the  thorns  covered  the  city  of  Gaur, 

And  Dacca  was  lost  for  a  white  dove's  wings. 

Dove — dove — oh,  homing  dove, 

Dacca  is  lost  from  the  roll  of  the  kings  ! 


THE   EXPLANATION 

Love  and  Death  once  ceased  their  strife 
At  the  Tavern  of  Man's  Life. 
Called  for  wine,  and  threw — alas ! — 
Each  his  quiver  on  the  grass. 
When  the  bout  was  o'er  they  found 
Mingled  arrows  strewed  the  ground. 
Hastily  they  gathered  then 
Each  the  loves  and  lives  of  men. 
Ah,  the  fateful  dawn  deceived ! 
Mingled  arrows  each  one  sheaved; 
Death's  dread  armoury  was  stored 
With  the  shafts  he  most  abhorred; 
Love's  light  quiver  groaned  beneath 
Venom-headed  darts  of  Death. 

Thus  it  was  they  wrought  our  woe 

At  the  Tavern  long  ago. 

Tell  me,  do  our  masters  know, 

Loosing  blindly  as  they  fly, 

Old  men  love  while  young  men  die? 

90 


AN   ANSWER 

A  Rose,  in  tatters  on  the  garden  path, 

Cried  out  to  God  t*nd  murmured  'gainst  His  wrath, 

Because  a  sudden  wind  at  twilight's  hush 

Had  snapped  her  stem  alone  of  all  the  bush. 

And  God,  who  hears  both  sun-dried  dust  and  sun. 

Made  answer  whispering  to  that  luckless  one, 

"  Sister,  in  that  thou  sayest  We  did  not  well — 

What  voices  heardst  thou  when  thy  petals  fell?" 

And  the  Rose  answered,  "  In  that  evil  hour 

A  voice  said,  '  Father,  wherefore  falls  the  flower  ? 

For  lo,  the  very  gossamers  are  still.' 

And  a  voice  answered,  '  Son,  by  Allah's  will ! '  " 

Then  softly  as  a  rain-mist  on  the  sward, 

Came  to  the  Rose  the  Answer  of  the  Lord  : 

"  Sister,  before  We  smote  the  dark  in  twain, 

Ere  yet  the  stars  saw  one  another  plain, 

Time,  tide,  and  space,  We  bound  unto  the  task 

That  thou  shouldst  fall,  and  such  an  one  should  ask." 

Whereat  the  withered  flower,  all  content. 

Died  as  they  die  whose  days  are  innocent ; 

While  he  who  questioned  why  the  flower  fell 

Caught  hold  of  God  and  saved  his  soul  from  Hell. 

Copyright,  1893,  by  Macmillan  &  Co. 


THE   GIFT   OF  THE   SEA 

The  dead  child  lay  in  the  shroud, 

And  the  widow  watched  beside; 
And  her  mother  slept,  and  the  Channel  swept 

The  gale  in  the  teeth  of  the  tide. 

But  the  mother  laughed  at  all. 

'  I  have  lost  my  man  in  the  sea, 
And  the  child  is  dead.     Be  still,'  she  said, 

'What  more  can  ye  do  to  me?  ' 

The  widow  watched  the  dead, 

And  the  candle  guttered  low. 
And  she  tried  to  sing  the  Passing  Song 

That  bids  the  poor  soul  go. 

And  '  Mary  take  you  now, '  she  sang, 

*That  lay  against  my  heart.' 
And  'Mary  smooth  your  crib  to-night,' 

But  she  could  not  say  *  Depart. ' 

92 


THE   GIFT  OF  THE   SEA  98 

Then  came  a  cry  from  the  sea, 

But  the  sea-rime  blinded  the  glass, 
And  *  Heard  ye  nothing,  mother?  '  she  said, 

"lis  the  child  that  waits  to  pass.' 

And  the  nodding  mother  sighed. 

*  'Tis  a  lambing  ewe  in  the  whin, 
*For  why  should  the  christened  soul  cry  out, 

'That  never  knew  of  sin?  ' 

*0  feet  I  have  held  in  my  hand, 

*0  hands  at  my  heart  to  catch, 
'How  should  they  know  the  road  to  go, 

'And  how  should  they  lift  the  latch?' 

They  laid  a  sheet  to  the  door, 

With  the  little  quilt  atop, 
That  it  might  not  hurt  from  the  cold  or  the  dirt, 

But  the  crying  would  not  stop. 

The  widow  lifted  the  latch 

And  strained  her  eyes  to  see, 
And  opened  the  door  on  the  bitter  shore 

To  let  the  soul  go  free. 


94  THE   GIFT   OF   THE    SEA 

There  was  neither  glimmer  nor  ghost, 
There  was  neither  spirit  nor  spark, 

And  'Heard  ye  nothing,  mother?  '  she  said, 
"Tis  crying  for  me  in  the  dark.' 

And  the  nodding  mother  sighed, 

*'Tis  sorrow  makes  ye  dull; 
'Have  ye  yet  to  learn  the  cry  of  the  tern, 

*0r  the  wail  of  the  wind-blown  gull? ' 

'The  terns  are  blov/n  inland, 

'The  grey  gull  follows  the  plough. 
"Twas  never  a  bird,  the  voice  I  heard, 

'O  mother,  I  hear  it  now  1 ' 

*Lie  still,  dear  lamb,  lie  still; 

*The  child  is  passed  from  harm, 
*  'Tis  the  ache  in  your  breast  that  broke  your  rest, 

'And  the  feel  of  an  empty  arm.* 

She  put  her  mother  aside, 

'In  Mary's  name  let  be! 
'For  the  peace  of  my  soul  I  must  go,'  she  said, 

And  she  went  to  the  calling  sea. 


THE   GIFT  OF   THE   SEA  95 

In  the  heel  of  the  wind-bit  pier, 

Where  the  twisted  weed  was  piled, 
She  came  to  the  life  she  had  missed  by  an  hour, 

For  she  came  to  a  little  child. 

She  laid  it  into  her  breast. 

And  back  to  her  mother  she  came, 
But  it  would  not  feed  and  it  would  not  heed, 

Though  she  gave  it  her  own  child's  name. 

And  the  dead  child  dripped  on  her  breast, 
And  her  own  in  the  shroud  lay  stark; 

And  'God  forgive  us,  mother,'  she  said, 
*We  let  it  die  in  the  dark! ' 


EVARRA   AND    HIS   GODS 

Read  here, 

This  is  the  story  of  Evarra — 7nati — 

Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  the  city  gave  him  of  her  gold, 
Because  the  caravans  brought  turquoises, 
Because  his  life  was  sheltered  by  the  King, 
So  that  no  man  should  maim  him,   none  should 

steal. 
Or  break  his  rest  with  babble  in  the  streets 
When  he  was  weary  after  toil,  he  made 
An  image  of  his  God  in  gold  and  pearl, 
With  turquoise  diadem  and  human  eyes, 
A  wonder  in  the  sunshine,  known  afar 
And  worshipped  by  the   King;    but,    drunk  with 

pride. 
Because  the  city  bowed  to  him  for  God, 
He  wrote  above  the  shrine :  *  Thus  Gods  arc  made, 
^  And  whoso  makes  them  othenvise  shall  die' 
And  all  the  city  praised  him.   .   .   .  Then  he  died. 
96 


EVARRA   AND   HIS   GODS  97 

Read  here  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 

Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  the  city  had  no  wealth  to  give, 
Because  the  caravans  were  spoiled  afar, 
Because  his  life  was  threatened  by  the  King, 
So  that  all  men  despised  him  in  the  streets. 
He  hewed  the  living  rock,  with  sweat  and  tears. 
And  reared  a  God  against  the  morning-gold, 
A  terror  in  the  sunshine,  seen  afar. 
And  worshipped  by  the   King;    but,   drunk  with 

pride, 
Because  the  city  fawned  to  bring  him  back. 
He  carved  upon  the  plinth :  '  Thus  Gods  are  madej 
*And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die.' 
And  all  the  people  praised  him.  .  .  .  Then  he 
died. 


Read  here  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 

Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  he  lived  among  a  simple  folk. 
Because  his  village  was  between  the  hills, 
Because  he  smeared  his  cheeks  with  blood  of  ewes, 
He  cut  an  idol  from  a  fallen  pine. 
Smeared  blood  upon  its  cheeks,  and  wedged  a  shell 

G 


98  EVARRA  AND   HIS  GODS 

Above  its  brows  for  eyes,  and  gave  it  hair 
Of  trailing  moss,  and  plaited  straw  for  crown. 
And  all  the  village  praised  him  for  this  craft. 
And  brought  him  butter,  honey,  milk,  and  curds. 
Wherefore,  because  the  shoutings  drove  him  mad. 
He  scratched  upon  that  log :  '  Thus  Gods  are  made^ 
*And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die.'* 
And  all   the   people  praised  him.  .  .  .  Then  he 
died. 


Read  here  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 

Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 

Because  his  God  decreed  one  clot  of  blood 
Should  swerve  one  hair's-breadth  from  the  pulse's 

path, 
And  chafe  his  brain,  Evarra  mowed  alone, 
Rag-wrapped,  among  the  cattle  in  the  fields. 
Counting  his  fingers,  jesting  with  the  trees, 
And  mocking  at  the  mist,  until  his  God 
Drove  him  to  labour.     Out  of  dung  and  horns 
Dropped  in  the  mire  he  made  a  monstrous  God, 
Abhorrent,  shapeless,  crowned  with  plaintain  tufts, 
And  when  the  cattle  lowed  at  twilight  time, 
He  dreamed  it  was  the  clamour  of  lost  crowds, 


EVARRA  AND    HIS   GODS  99 

And  howled  among    the   beasts:  ^ Thus   Gods  are 

made, 
*  And  whoso  makes  fhet?t  otherwise  shall  die.'' 
Thereat  the  cattle  bellowed.   .  .  .  Then  he  died. 

Yet  at  the  last  he  came  to  Paradise, 

And  found  his  own  four  Gods,  and  that  he  wrote; 

And  marvelled,  being  very  near  to  God, 

What  oaf  on  earth  had  made  his  toil  God's  law. 

Till   God   said  mocking:   *Mock  not.     These  be 

thine.' 
Then  cried  Evarra:  'I  have  sinned! ' — 'Not  so. 
'If  thou  hadst  written  otherwise,  thy  Gods 
'Had  rested  in  the  mountain  and  the  mine, 
'And  I  were  poorer  by  four  wondrous  Gods, 
'And  thy  more  wondrous  law,  Evarra.     Thine, 
'Servant  of  shouting  crowds  and  lowing  kine.' 

Thereat,  with  laughing  mouth,  but  tear-wet  eyes, 
Evarra  cast  his  Gods  from  Paradise. 

This  is  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 


THE    CONUNDRUM    OF    THE    WORKSHOPS 

When    the   flush   of    a    new  born    sun    fell    first    on 

Eden's  green  and  gold, 
Our  father  Adam  sat  under  the  Tree  and  scratched 

with  a  stick  in  the  mould; 
And  the  first  rude  sketch  that  the  world  had  seen 

was  joy  to  his  mighty  heart, 
Till   the    Devil    whispered  behind  the  leaves,   'It's 

pretty,  but  is  it  Art?  ' 


Wherefore  he  called  to  his  wife,  and  fled  to  fashion 

his  work  anew — 
The  first  of  his  race  who  cared  a  fig  for  the  first, 

most  dread  reviev/; 
And  he  left  his  lore  to  the  use  of  his  sons — and 

that  was  a  glorious  gain 
When   the  Devil  chuckled  'Is  it  Art?'   in  the  ear 

of  the  branded  Cain. 
100 


THE  CONUNDRUM  101 

They  buildcd  a  tower  to  shiver  the  sky  and  wrench 

the  stars  apart, 
Till    the    Devil    grunted   behind   the   bricks:    'It's 

striking,  but  is  it  Art?  ' 
The  stone  was  dropped  at  the  quarry-side  and  the 

idle  derrick  swung. 
While    each    man    talked   of    the  aims  of  Art,  and 

each  in  an  alien  tongue. 


They   fought    and    they    talked    in   the    North   and 

the    South,     they    talked    and    they    fought    in 

the  West, 
Till   the   waters  rose  on   the  pitiful  land,   and  the 

poor  Red  Clay  had  rest — 
Had  rest  till  the  dank,  blank-canvas  dawn  when  the 

dove  was  preened  to  start, 
And    the     Devil    bubbled    below    the    keel:    'It's 

human,  but  is  it  Art? ' 


The  tale  is  as  old  as  the  Eden  Tree — and  new  as 

the  new-cut  tooth — 
For  each  man  knov/s  ere  his  lip-thatch  grows  he  is 

master  of  Art  and  Truth; 


102  THE   CONUNDRUM   OF 

And  each  man  hears   as   the    twilight  nears,  to  the 

beat  of  his  dying  heart, 
The   Devil  drum  on  the  darkened  pane:  'You  did 

it,  but  was  it  Art?  ' 


We  have  learned  to  whittle  the  Eden  Tree   to   the 

shape  of  a  surplice-peg. 
We  have  learned  to  bottle  our  parents  twain  in  the 

yelk  of  an  addled  egg, 
We  know  that  the  tail  must  wag  the  dog,   for  the 

horse  is  drawn  by  the  cart; 
But  the  Devil  whoops,  as  he  whooped  of  old:  'It's 

clever,  but  is  it  Art?  ' 


When  the  flicker  of  London  sun  falls  faint  on  the 

Club-room's  green  and  gold. 
The  sons  of  Adam  sit  them  down  and  scratch  with 

their  pens  in  the  mould — 
They  scratch  with  their  pens  in  the  mould  of  their 

graves,  and  the  ink  and  the  anguish  start, 
For    the    Devil    mutters    behind    the    leaves:    'It's 

pretty,  but  is  it  Art?' 


THE   WORKSHOPS  103 

Now,   if  we  could  win  to  the  Eden  Tree  where  the 

Four  Great  Rivers  flow, 
And  the  Wreath  of  Eve  is  red  on  the  turf  as  she 

left  it  long  ago. 
And   if  we  could   come  when  the  sentry  slept  and 

softly  scurry  through, 
By  the  favour  of  God  we  might  know  as  much — • 

as  our  father  Adani  knew. 


IN   THE   NEOLITHIC   AGE 

In  the  Neolithic  Age  savage  warfare  did  I  wage 
For  food  and  fame  and  two-toed  horses'  pelt ; 

I  was  singer  to  my  clan  in  that  dim,  red  Dawn  of  Man, 
And  I  sang  of  all  we  fought  and  feared  and  felt. 

Yea,  I  sang  as  now  I  sing,  when  the  Prehistoric  spring 
Made  the  piled  Biscayan  ice-pack  spht  and  shove, 

And  the  troll  and  gnome  and  dwerg,  and  the  Gods  of 
CHff  and  Berg 
Were  about  me  and  beneath  me  and  above. 

But  a  rival  of  Solutr^  told  the  tribe  my  style  was  oiiirc — 
By  a  hammer,  grooved  of  dolomite,  he  fell. 

And  I  left  my  views  on  Art,  barbed  and  tanged,  be- 
neath the  heart 
Of  a  mammothistic  etcher  at  Grenelle. 

Then  I  stripped  them,  scalp  from  skull,  and  my  hunt- 
ing dogs  fed  full, 
And  their  teeth  I  threaded  neady  on  a  thong ; 

104  Copyright,  1893,  by  Macmillan  &  Co. 


IN   THE   NEOLITHIC   AGE  105 

And  I  wiped  my  mouth  and  said,  "  It  is  well  that  they 
are  dead, 
For  I  know  my  work  is  right  and  theirs  was  wrong." 

But  my  Totem  saw  the  shame ;  from  his  ridgepole 
shrine  he  came, 
And  he  told  me  in  a  vision  of  the  night :  — 
"  There  are  nine  and  sixty  ways  of  constructing  tribal 
lays, 
And  every  single  one  of  them  is  right !  " 


Then  the  silence  closed  upon  me  till  They  put  new 
clothing  on  me 
Of  whiter,  weaker  flesh  and  bone  more  frail ; 
And  I  stepped  beneath  Time's  finger  once  again  a 
tribal  singer 
And  a  minor  poet  certified  by  Tr — 1. 

Still  they  skirmish  to  and  fro,  men  my  messmates  on 
the  snow. 

When  we  headed  off  the  aurochs  turn  for  turn ; 
When  the  rich  Allobiogenses  never  kept  amanuenses, 

And  our  only  plots  were  piled  in  lakes  at  Berne. 


106  IN  THE   NEOLITHIC   AGE 

Still  a  cultured  Christian  age  sees  us  scuffle,  squeak, 
and  rage, 
Still  we  pinch  and  slap  and  jabber — scratch  and 
dirk; 
Still  we  let  our  business  slide — as  we  dropped  the  half- 
dressed  hide — 
To  show  a  fellow-savage  how  to  work. 

Still  the  world  is  wondrous  large, — seven  seas  from 
marge  to  marge, — 
And  it  holds  a  vast  of  various  kinds  of  man ; 
And  the  wildest  dreams  of  Kew  are  the  facts  of  Khat- 
mandhu 
And  the  crimes  of  Clapham  chaste  in  Martaban. 

Here's  my  wisdom  for  your  use,  as  I  learned  it  when 
the  moose 
And  the  reindeer  roared  where  Paris  roars  to-night : 
There  are  nine  and  sixty  ways  of  constructing  tribal 
lays. 
And — every — single — one — of — them — is — right. 


THE   LEGEND   OF   EVIL 


This  is  the  sorrowful  story 
Told  when  the  twilight  fails 

And  the  monkeys  walk  together 
Holding  each  other's  tails. 

*Our  fathers  lived  in  the  forest, 

'Foolish  people  were  they, 
'They  went  down  to  the  cornland 

*To  teach  the  farmers  to  play. 

'Our  fathers  frisked  in  the  millet, 
'Our  fathers  skipped  in  the  wheat, 

*Our  fathers  hung  from  the  branches, 
'Our  fathers  danced  in  the  street. 

'Then  came  the  terrible  farmers, 
'Nothing  of  play  they  knew, 

'Only  .   .   .  they  caught  our  fathers 
'And  set  them  to  labour  too ! 

Copyright,  1892,  by  Macmillan  &  Co.        107 


108  THE    LEGEND   OF  EVIL 

'Set  them  to  work  in  the  cornland 
*With  ploughs  and  sickles  and  flails, 

*Put  them  in  mud-walled  prisons 
*And — cut  off  their  beautiful  tails! 

'Now,  we  can  watch  our  fathers, 

'Sullen  and  bowed  and  old, 
'Stooping  over  the  millet, 
'Sharing  the  silly  mould. 

'Driving  a  foolish  furrow, 
'Mending  a  muddy  yoke, 

'Sleeping  in  mud-walled  prisons, 
'Steeping  their  food  in  smoke. 

'We  may  not  speak  to  our  fathers, 
'For  if  the  farmers  knew 

'They  would  come  up  to  the  forest 
'And  set  us  to  labour  too!' 

This  is  the  horrible  story 
Told  as  the  twilight  fails 

And  the  monkeys  walk  together 
Holding  each  other's  tails. 


THE   LEGEND   OF    EVIL  109 


II 


*TwAS  when  the  rain  fell  steady   an'    the    Ark  was 
pitched  an'  ready, 
That  Noah  got  his  orders  for  to  take  the  bastes 
below; 
He  dragged  them  all  together  by  the  horn  an'  hide 
an'  feather, 
An'  all  excipt  the  Donkey  was  agreeable  to  go. 

Thin    Noah    spoke    him  fairly,   thin  talked   to  him 
sevarely. 
An'  thin  he  cursed  him  squarely  to  the  glory  av 
the  Lord: 
*Divil  take   the  ass  that  bred  you,   and  the  greater 
ass  that  fed  you — 
Divil  go  wid  you,  ye  spalpeen ! '  an'  the  Donkey 
went  aboard. 

But   the  wind   was   always   failin',   an'    'twas   most 
onaisy  sailin', 
An'   the  ladies  in  the   cabin  couldn't  stand  the 
stable  air; 


110  THE   LEGEND   OF   EVIL 

An'    the    bastes  betwuxt  the  hatches,   they  tuk  an' 
died  in  batches, 
Till  Noah  said:    'There's  wan  av  us  that  hasn't 
paid  his  fare ! ' 

For   he   heard   a   flusteration  wid  the  bastes  av  all 
creation — 
The    trumpetin'    av   elephints    an'    bellowin'    av 
whales; 
An'    he    saw   forninst  the  windy  whin   he   wint   to 
stop  the  shindy 
The  Divil  wid  a  stable-fork  bedivillin'  their  tails. 

The    Divil    cursed    outrageous,  but  Noah  said  um- 
brageous : 
*To  what    am    I    indebted    for   this    tenant-right 
invasion  ? ' 
An'  the   Divil  gave  for  answer:  'Evict  me   if   you 
can,  sir, 
'For    I     came    in    wid    the    Donkey — on    Your 
Honour's  invitation.' 


THE   ENGLISH   FLAG 

Above  the  portico  a  flag-staff,  bear'ing  the  Union  Jack, 
remained  flutter itig  in  the  flames  for  souic  time,  but  ulti- 
mately when  it  fell  the  crowds  rent  the  air  with  shouts, 
and  seemed  to  see  significance  in  the  incident. — Daily  Papers. 

Winds    of    the    World,    give    answer?      They    are 

whimpering  to  and  fro — 
And  what  should  they  know  of  England  who  only 

England  know? — 
The  poor  little  street-bred  people  that  vapour  and 

fume  and  brag, 
They  are  lifting  their  heads  in  the  stillness  to  yelp 

at  the  English  Flag! 

Must  we  borrow  a  clout  from  the  Boer — to  plaster 

anew  with  dirt? 
An   Irish    liar's   bandage,  or    an    English  coward's 

shirt? 
We  may  not  speak  of  England;  her  Flag's  to  sell  or 

share. 

What    is    the    Flag    of    England?     Winds    of    the 

World,  declare! 

Ill 


112  THE   ENGLISH   FLAG 

The  North  Wind  blew: — 'From  Bergen  my  steel- 
shod  van-guards  go; 

*I  chase  your  lazy  whalers  home  from  the  Disko 
floe; 

'By  the  great  North  Lights  above  me  I  work  the 
will  of  God, 

'That  the  liner  spHts  on  the  ice-field  or  the  Dogger 
fills  with  cod. 

*I  barred  my  gates  with  iron,  I  shuttered  my  doors 

with  flame, 
'Because  to  force  my  ramparts  your  nutshell  navies 

came; 
'I    took   the    sun    from    their  presence,   I  cut  them 

down  v^ith  my  blast, 
*And  they  died,  but  the  Flag  of  England  blew  free 

ere  the  spirit  passed. 

*The  lean  white  bear  hath  seen  it  in  the  long,  long 

Arctic  night, 
'The    musk-ox   knows   the    standard  that  flouts  the 

Northern  Light: 
'What  is  the   Flag  of    England?     Ye  have   but  my 

bergs  to  dare, 
'Ye  have  but  my  drifts  to  conquer.     Go  forth,  fur  it 

is  there  I ' 


THE    ENGLISH    FLAG  113 

The  South  Wind   sighed: — 'From  The  Virgins   my 

mid-sea  course  was  ta'en 
*Over  a  thousand  islands  lost  in  an  idle  main, 
'Where    the    sea-egg   flames  on   the   coral   and   the 

long-backed  breakers  croon 
'Their  endless  ocean   legends   to    the    lazy,    locked 

lagoon. 

'Strayed    amid    lonely    islets,    mazed    amid    outer 

keys, 
'I  waked  the  palms  to  laughter — I  tossed  the  scud  in 

the  breeze — 
'Never  was  isle  so  little,  never  was  sea  so  lone, 
'But  over  the  scud  and  the  palm-trees  an  English 

flag  was  flown. 

*I  have  wrenched  it  free  from  the  halliard  to  hang 

for  a  wisp  on  the  Horn; 
'I  have  chased  it  north  to  the  Lizard — ribboned  and 

rolled  and  torn; 
'I  have  spread  its  fold  o'er  the  dying,  adrift  in  a 

hopeless  sea; 
*I  have  hurled  it  swift  on  the  slaver,  and  seen  the 

slave  set  free. 

H 


114  THE   ENGLISH   FLAG 

*My  basking  simfish  know  it,  and  wheeling  albatross, 
'Where   the   lone   wave   fills   with   fire  beneath  the 

Southern  Cross. 
'What  is  the  Flag  of   England?     Ye  have  but   my 

reefs  to  dare, 
'Ye  have  but  my  seas  to  furrow.     Go  forth,  for  it  is 

there ! ' 

The   East   Wind   roared: — 'From   the   Kuriles,    the 

Bitter  Seas,  I  come, 
'And  me  men  call  the  Home-Wind,  for  I  bring  the 

English  home. 
'Look — look  well  to  your  shipping!     By  the  breath 

of  my  mad  typhoon 
'I  swept  your  close-packed  Praya  and  beached  your 

best  at  Kowloon ! 

'The  reeling  junks  behind  me  and  the  racing  seas 
before, 

'I  raped  your  richest  roadstead — I  plundered  Singa- 
pore! 

'I  set  my  hand  on  the  Hoogli;  as  a  hooded  snake 
she  rose, 

'And  I  flung  your  stoutest  steamers  to  roost  with 
the  startled  crows. 


THE   ENGLISH   FLAG  115 

*  Never  the  lotos  closes,  never  the  wild-fowl  wake, 
*But  a  soul  goes  out  on  the  East  Wind  that  died  for 

England's  sake — 
*Man   or   woman  or  suckling,   mother   or  bride  or 

maid — 
'Because  on  the  bones  of  the  English  the  English 

Elag  is  stayed. 

*The  desert-dust  hath  dimmed  it,  the  flying  wild-ass 
knows 

'The  scared  white  leopard  winds  it  across  the  taint- 
less snows. 

*What  is  the  Flag  of  England?  Ve  have  but  my 
sun  to  dare, 

*Ye  have  but  my  sands  to  travel.  Go  forth,  for  it  is 
there ! ' 

The  West  Wind  called : — *  In  squadrons  the  thought- 
less galleons  fly 

'That  bear  the  wheat  and  cattle  lest  street-bred 
people  die. 

'They  make  my  might  their  porter,  they  make  my 
house  their  path, 

'Till  I  loose  my  neck  from  their  rudder  and  whelm 
them  all  in  my  wrath. 


116  THE   ENGLISH   FLAG 

'I  draw  the  gliding  fog-bank  as  a  snake  is  drawn 
from  tlie  hole; 

'They  bellow  one  to  the  other,  the  frighted  ship- 
bells  toll, 

*For  day  is  a  drifting  terror  till  I  raise  the  shroud 
with  my  breath, 

*And  they  see  strange  bows  above  them  and  the 
two  go  locked  to  death. 

'But  whether  in  calm  or  wrack-wreath,  whether  by 

dark  or  day, 
*I   heave    them   whole   to   the   conger  or  rip  their 

plates  away, 
*  First  of  the  scattered  legions,  under  a  shrieking  sky, 
'Dipping  between  the  rollers,  the  English  Flag  goes 

by. 

'The  dead  dumb  fog  hath  wrapped   it — the  frozen 

dews  have  kissed — 
*The  naked  stars  have  seen  it,   a  fellow-star  in  the 

mist. 
*What  is  the  Flag  of  England?     Ye  have  but   my 

breath  to  dare, 
•Ye  have  but  my  waves  to  conquer.     Go  forth,  for  it 

is  there ! ' 


'CLEARED ' 
(in  memory  of  a  commission) 

Help    for    a    patriot    distressed,    a    spotless    spirit 

hurt, 
Help  for  an  honourable  clan  sore  trampled  in  the 

dirt! 
From  Queenstown  Bay  to  Donegal,  O  listen  to  my 

song, 
The   honourable    gentlemen   have  suffered  grievous 

wrong. 

Their  noble  names  were  mentioned — O  the  burning 
black  disgrace ! — 

By    a    brutal    Saxon    paper    in    an    Irish    shooting- 
case; 

They  sat  upon  it  for  a  year,  then  steeled  their  heart 
to  brave  it, 

And    'coruscating    innocence '    the    learned   Judges 
gave  it. 

117 


118  'CLEARED' 

Bear  witness,  Heaven,   of  that  grim  crime  beneath 

the  surgeon's  knife, 
The    honourable    gentleman    deplored    the    loss   of 

life; 
Bear  witness  of  those  chanting  choirs  that  burk  and 

shirk  and  snigger. 
No  man  laid  hand  upon  the  knife  or  finger  to  the 

trigger ! 


Cleared   in   the  face  of   all   mankind   beneath   the 

winking  skies. 
Like   phoenixes   from   Phoenix   Park  (and  what  lay 

there)  they  rise ! 
Go  shout  it  to  the  emerald  seas — give  word  to  Erin 

now. 
Her   honourable   gentlemen   are   cleared — and    this 

is  how : — 


They  only  paid  the  Moonlighter  his  cattle-hocking 

price, 
They  only  helped  the  murderer  with  council's  best 

advice, 


'CLEARED'  119 

But — sure  it  keeps  their  honour  white — the  learncfl 

Court  believes 
They  never  gave  a  piece  of  plate  to  murderers  and 

thieves. 


They    never    told    the    ramping    crowd    to    card    a 

woman's  hide, 
They  never  marked  a  man  for  death — what  fault  of 

theirs  he  died? — 
They  only  said  'intimidate,'  and  talked  and  went 

away — 
By   God,    the  boys  that  did  the  work  were  braver 

men  than  they ! 


Their  sin  it  was  that  fed  the  fire — small  blame  to 

them  that  heard — 
The  'bhoys '    get  drunk   on  rhetoric,    and    madden. 

at  the  word — 
They    knew    whom   they   were   talking   at,    if    they 

were  Irish  too, 
The  gentlemen  that  lied  in  Court,   they  knew  and 

well  they  knew. 


120  'CLEARED' 

They  only  took  the  Judas-gold  from  Fenians  out  of 

jail, 
They   only   fawned   for  dollars   on   the   blood-dyed 

Clan-na-Gael. 
If  black   is  black  or  white  is  white,   in  black  and 

white  it's  down. 
They're  only  traitors  to  the  Queen   and    rebels  to 

the  Crown. 


*  Cleared, '  honourable  gentlemen.     Be  thankful  it's 

no  more : 

The  widow's  curse  is  on  your  house,   the  dead  are 

at  your  door. 
On   you   the    shame  of   open  shame,   on  you  from 

North  to  South 
The  hand   of    every   honest  man  flat-heeled  across 

your  mouth. 


*Less   black   than    we    were    painted'? — Faith,    no 

word  of  black  was  said; 
The  lightest  touch  was  human  blood,  and    that,  ye 

know,  runs  red. 


'CLEARED'  121 

It's  sticking  to  your  fist  to-day  for  all  your   sneer 

and  scoff, 
And  by  the  Judge's  well-weighed  word  you  cannot 

wipe  it  off. 


Hold  up  those  hands  of  innocence — go,  scare  your 

sheep  together. 
The  blundering,  tripping  tups  that  bleat  behind  the 

old  bell-wether; 
And    if    they    snuff    the    taint    and    break    to    find 

another  pen. 
Tell  them  it's  tar  that  glistens  so,   and  daub  them 

yours  again ! 


'The  charge  is  old '  ? — As  old  as  Cain — as  fresh  as 

yesterday; 
Old   as   the  Ten   Commandments,    have  ye    talked 

those  laws  away? 
If  words  are  words,  or  death  is   death,   or  powder 

sends  the  ball, 
You  spoke  the  words  that  sped  the  shot — the  curse 

be  on  you  all. 


122  '  CLEARED ' 

'Our   friends    believe'?      Of    course    they    do — as 

sheltered  women  may; 
But  have  they  seen  the  shrieking  soul  ripped  from 

the  quivering  clay? 
They! — If    their    own    front    door    is    shut,    they'll 

swear  the  whole  world's  warm; 
What  do  they  know  of  dread  of  death  or  hanging 

fear  of  harm? 


The  secret  half  a  county  keeps,  the  whisper  in  the 

lane, 
The   shriek   that  tells  the  shot  went  home  behind 

the  broken  pane. 
The  dry  blood  crisping  in  the  sun  that  scares  the 

honest  bees. 
And  shows  the  'bhoys '  have  heard  your  talk — what 

do  they  know  of  these  ? 


But    you — you    know — ay,     ten    times    more;    the 

secrets  of  the  dead. 
Black    terror    on    the   country-side    by    word    and 

whisper  bred, 


'CLEARED'  123 

The  mangled  stallion's  scream  at  night,  the  tail- 
cropped  heifer's  low. 

Who  set  the  whisper  going  first?  You  know,  and 
well  you  know ! 


My  soul!     I'd  sooner  lie   in  jail  for  murder  plain 

and  straight, 
Pure  crime  I'd  done  with  my  own  hand  for  money, 

lust,  or  hate, 
Than   take    a   seat   in   Parliament  by   fellow-felons 

cheered, 
While  one  of  those  'not  provens '  proved  me  cleared 

as  you  are  cleared. 


Cleared — you  that  'lost'  the  League  accounts — go, 

guard  our  honour  still. 
Go,  help   to   make   our  country's   laws    that   broke 

God's  law  at  will — 
One    hand   stuck   out   behind   the   back,    to   signal 

'strike  again  '; 
The   other   on   your   dress-shirt-front  to  show  your 

heart  is  clane. 


124  « CLEARED ' 

If   black   is  black  or  white  is  white,   in  black  and 

white  it's  down, 
You're  only  traitors  to  the  Queen  and  rebels  to  the 

Crown. 
If  print   is  print  or  words  are  words,   the  learned 

Court  perpends : 
We  are  not  ruled  by  murderers,  but  only — by  their 

friends. 


AN    IMPERIAL   RESCRIPT 

Now  this   is   the  tale  of  the  Council  the  German 

Kaiser  decreed, 
To   ease   the   strong  of  their  burden,   to   help   the 

weak  in  their  need 
He  sent  a  word  to  the  peoples,  who  struggle,   and 

pant,  and  sweat. 
That    the   straw   might  be   counted   fairly   and   the 

tally  of  bricks  be  set. 

The    Lords   of  Their  Hands  assembled;    from   the 

East  and  the  West  they  drew — 
Baltimore,  Lille,  and  Essen,  Brummagem,  Clyde,  and 

Crewe. 
And  some  were  black  from  the  furnace,   and  some 

were  brown  from  the  soil. 
And  some  were  blue  from  the  dye-vat;  but  all  were 

wearied  of  toil. 

125 


126  AN   IMPERIAL   RESCRIPT 

And  the   young    King  said    'I  have  found  it,   the 

road  to  the  rest  ye  seek 
'The  strong  shall  wait  for  the  weary,  the  hale  shall 

halt  for  the  weak; 
'With    the   even   tramp  of  an  army  where   no   man 

breaks  from  the  line, 
'Ye  shall  march  to  peace  and  plenty  in  the  bond  of 

brotherhood — sign ! ' 

The  paper  lay  on  the  table,  the  strong  heads  bowed 

thereby, 
And  a  wail  went  up  from  the  peoples:  'x\y,  sign — 

give  rest,  for  we  die ! ' 
A  hand  was  stretched  to  the  goose-quill,  a  fist  was 

cramped  to  scrawl. 
When — the  laugh  of  a  blue-eyed  maiden  ran  clear 

through  the  council-hall. 

And  each  one  heard  Her  laughing  as  each  one  saw 

Her  plain — 
Saidie,  Mimi,  or  Olga,  Gretchen,  or  Mary  Jane. 
And  the  Spirit  of  Man  that  is  in  Him  to  the  light 

of  the  vision  woke; 
And    the    men   drew    back    from    the    paper,    as   a 

Yankee  delegate  spoke : — 


AN   IMPERIAL   RESCRIPT  127 

'There's  a  girl    in  Jersey   City   who  works  on    the 

telephone; 
*We're   going    to   hitch  our  horses   and   dig    for   a 

house  of  our  own, 
'With  gas  and  water  connections,    and    steam-heat 

through  to  the  top; 
'And,W.  Hohenzollern,!  guess  I  shall  work  till  I  drop.' 


And    an    English    delegate   thundered:    'The    weak 

an'  the  lame  be  blowed ! 
'I've  a  berth  in  the  Sou '-West  workshops,  a  home 

in  the  Wandsworth  Road; 
'And  till  the  'sociation  has  footed  my  buryin'  bill, 
'I  work  for  the  kids  an'   the  missus.     Pull  up!  I'll 

be  damned  if  I  will ! ' 


And  over  the  German  benches  the  bearded  whisper 

ran : — 
'Lager,  der  girls  und  der  dollars,  dey  makes  or  dey 

breaks  a  man. 
'If  Schmitt  haf  collared  der  dollars,  he  collars  der 

girl  deremit; 
'But  if  Schmitt  bust  in  der  pizness,  we  collars  der 

girl  from  Schmitt.' 


128  AN   IMPERIAL  RESCRIPT 

They  passed  one   resolution:  'Your   sub-committee 

believe 
*You  can  lighten  the  curse  of  Adam  when  you've 

lightened  the  curse  of  Eve. 
'But  till  we  are  built  like  angels — with  hammer  and 

chisel  and  pen, 
*We  will  work  for  ourself  and  a  woman,  for  ever  and 

ever.    Amen.' 

Now  this  is  the  tale  of  the   Council   the   German 

Kaiser  held — 
The    day    that    they    razored    the    Grindstone,    the 

day  that  the  Cat  was  belled. 
The  day  of  the  Figs  from  Thistles,   the  day  of  the 

Twisted  Sands, 
The  day  that  the  laugh  of  a  maiden  made  light  of 

the  Lords  of  Their  Hands. 


TOMLINSON 

Now  Tomlinson  gave  up  the  ghost  in  his  house  in 

Berkeley  Square, 
And  a  Spirit  came  to  his  bedside  and  gripped  him 

by  the  hair — 
A  Spirit  gripped  him  by  the  hair  and  carried  him 

far  away, 
Till  he  heard  as  the  roar  of  a  rain-fed  ford  the  roar 

of  the  Milky  Way, 
Till  he  heard  the  roar  of  the  Milky  Way  die  down 

and  drone  and  cease, 
And  they  came  to  the  Gate  within  the  Wall  where 

Peter  holds  the  keys. 
*  Stand  up,    stand  up  now,    Tomlinson,    and  answer 

loud  and  high 
*The  good  that  ye  did  for  the  sake  of  men  or  ever 

ye  came  to  die — 
*The  good  that  ye  did  for  the  sake  of  men  in  little 

earth  so  lone ! ' 

1  129 


130  TOMLINSON 

And   the   naked  soul   of   Tomlinson  grew  white  as 

a  rain-washed  bone. 
*0,    I  have  a  friend  on  earth,'  he  said,  'that  was 

my  priest  and  guide, 
'And  well  would  he  answer  all  for  me  if  he  were  by 

my  side.' 
— 'For  that  ye  strove  in  neighbour-love  it  shall  be 

written  fair, 
*But  now  ye   wait   at   Heaven's   Gate   and   not   in 

Berkel^  Square : 
'Though   we  called  your   friend  from  his  bed  this 

night,  he  could  not  speak  for  you, 
'For  the  race  is  run  by  one  and  one  and  never  by 

two  and  two.' 
Then   Tomlinson   looked  up  and  down,   and  little 

gain  was  there. 
For  the  naked  stars  grinned  overhead,  and  he  saw 

that  his  soul  was  bare : 
The   Wind   that  blows  between  the  worlds,    it   cut 

him  like  a  knife. 
And  Tomlinson  took  up  his  tale  and  spoke  of  his 

good  in  life. 
'This  I  have  read  in  a  book,'  he  said,  'and  that  was 

told  to  me, 


TOMLINSON  131 

*And  this  I  have  thought  that  another  man  thought 

of  a  Prince  in  Muscovy.* 
The   good    souls    flocked    like    homing    doves    and 

bade  him  clear  the  path, 
And   Peter   twilled  the  jangiing  keys  in  weariness 

and  wrath. 
*Ye  have  read,  ye  have  heard,  ye  have  thought,'  he 

said,  'and  the  tale  is  yet  to  run: 
'By  the  worth  of  the  body  that  once  ye  had,   give 

answer — what  ha'  ye  done  ?  ' 
Then  Tomlinson  looked  back  and  forth,  and  little 

good  it  bore, 
For  the  Darkness  stayed  at  his  shoulder-blade  and 

Heaven's  Gate  before: 
*0h,  this  I  have  felt,  and  th's  I  have  guessed,  and 

this  X  have  heard  men  say, 
*And  this  they  wrote  that  another  man  wrote  of  a 

carl  in  Norroway.' 
*Ye  have  read,  ye  have  felt,   ye  have  guessed,  good 

lack!     Ye  have  hampered  Heaven's  Gate; 
'There's  little  room  between  the  stars  in  idleness  to 

prate ! 
*0h,  none  may  reach  by  hired  speech  of  neighbour, 

priest,  and  kin, 


132  TOiMLINSON 

'Through  borrowed  deed  to  God's  good  meed  that 

lies  so  fair  within; 
*Get  hence,  get  hence  to  the  Lord  of  Wrong,   for 

doom  has  yet  to  run, 
'And  .  .  .  the   faith   that  ye   share   with   Berkeley 

Square  uphold  you,  Tomlinson ! ' 


The  Spirit  gripped  him  by  the  hair,  and  sun  by  sun 

they  fell 
Till    they   came   to   the  belt  of  Naughty  Stars  that 

rim  the  mouth  of  Hell : 
The  first  are  red  with  pride  and  wrath,  the  next  are 

white  with  pain. 
But   the    third   are   black   with   clinkered   sin   that 

cannot  burn  again : 
They   may   hold   their  path,   they   may   leave  their 

path,  with  never  a  soul  to  mark. 
They  may  burn  or  freeze,  but  they  must  not  cease 

in  the  Scorn  of  the  Outer  Dark. 
The  Wind  that  blows  between  the  worlds,  it  nipped 

him  to  the  bone. 
And  he  yearned  to  the  flare  of  Hell-gate  there  as 

the  light  of  his  own  hearth-stone. 


TOM  LIN  SON  133 

The  Devil  he  sat  behind  the  bars,  where  the  desperate 
legions  drew, 

But  he  caught  the  hasting  Tomlinson  and  would  not 
let  him  through. 

*Wot  ye  the  price  of  good  pit-coal  that  I  must 
pay?  '  said  he, 

'That  ye  rank  yoursel'  so  fit  for  Hell  and  ask  no 
leave  of  me? 

'I  am  all  o'er-sib  to  Adam's  breed  that  ye  should 
give  me  scorn, 

'For  I  strove  with  God  for  your  First  Father  the  day 
that  he  was  born. 

*Sit  down,  sit  down  upon  the  slag,  and  answer  loud 
and  high 

*The  harm  that  ye  did  to  the  Sons  of  Men  or  ever 
you  came  to  die.' 

And  Tomlinson  looked  up  and  up,  and  saw  against 
the  night 

The  belly  of  a  tortured  star  blood-red  in  Hell- 
Mouth  light; 

And  Tomlinson  looked  down  and  down,  and  saw 
beneath  his  feet 

The  frontlet  of  a  tortured  star  milk-white  in  Hell- 
Mouth  heat. 


134  TOMLINSON 

*0h,   1  had  a  love  on  earth,'   said  he,   'that  kissed 

me  to  my  fall, 
'And  if  ye  would  call  my  love  to  me  I  know  she 

would  answer  all. ' 
— 'AH  that  ye  did  in  love  forbid  it  shall  be  written 

fair, 
'But  now  ye  wait  at  Hell-Mouth  Gate  and  not  in 

Berkeley  Square : 
'Though  we  whistled  your  love  from  her  bed  to-night, 

I  trow  she  would  not  run, 
'For  the  sin  ye  do  by  two  and  two  ye  must  pay  for 

one  by  one !  * 
The  Wind  that  blows  between  the  worlds,  it  cut  him 

like  a  knife, 
And  Tomlinson  took  up  the  tale  and  spoke  of  his 

sin  in  life: 
'Once  I  ha'  laughed  at  the  power  of  Love  and  twice 

at  the  grip  of  the  Grave, 
'And  thrice  I  ha'  patted  my  God  on  the  head  that 

men  might  call  me  brave.' 
The  Devil  he  blew  on  a  brandered  soul  and  set  it 

aside  to  cool :  • 

'Do  ye  think  I  would  waste  my  good  pit-coal  on  the 

hide  of  a  brain-sick  fool? 


TOMLINSON  136 

*I  see  no  worth  in  the  hobnailed  mirth  or  the  jolt- 
head  jest  ye  did 

*That  I  should  waken  my  gentlemen  that  are  sleep- 
ing three  on  a  grid.' 

Then  Tomlinson  looked  back  and  forth,  and  there 
was  little  grace, 

For  Hell-Gate  filled  the  houseless  Soul  with  the 
Fear  of  Naked  Space. 

*Nay,  this  I  ha'  heard,'  quo'  Tomlinson,  *and  this 
was  noised  abroad, 

'And  this  I  ha'  got  from  a  Belgian  book  on  the  word 
of  a  dead  French  lord. ' 

— *Ye  ha'  heard,  ye  ha'  read,  ye  ha'  got,  good  lack! 
And  the  tale  begins  afresh — 

*Have  ye  sinned  one  sin  for  the  pride  o'  the  eye  or 
the  sinful  lust  of  the  flesh? ' 

Then  Tomlinson  he  gripped  the  bars  and  yammered 
'Let  me  in — 

*For  I  mind  that  I  borrowed  my  neighbour's  wife  to 
sin  the  deadly  sin.' 

The  Devil  he  grinned  behind  the  bars,  and  banked 
the  fires  high : 

*  Did  ye  read  of  that  sin  in  a  book?'  said  he;  and 
Tomlinson  said  'Ay! ' 


136  TOMLINSON 

The    Devil  he  blew  upon  his  nails,  and  the  little 

devils  ran; 
And  he  said,   'Go  husk  this  whimpering  thief  that 

comes  in  the  guise  of  a  man : 
'Winnow  him  out  'twixt  star  and  star,  and  sieve  his 

proper  worth : 
'There's  sore  decline  in  Adam's  line  if  this  be  spawn 

of  earth,' 
Empusa's  crew,  so  naked-new  they  may  not  face  the 

fire, 
But  weep  that  they  bin  too  small  to  sin  to  the  height 

of  their  desire, 
Over  the  coal  they  chased  the  Soul,  and  racked  it 

all  abroad, 
As  children  rifle  a  caddis-case  or  the  raven's  foolish 

hoard. 
And   back   they  came  with   the  tattered  Thing,   as 

children  after  play. 
And  they  said:  'The  soul  that  he  got  from  God  he 

has  bartered  clean  away. 
'We  have  threshed  a  stook  of  print  and  book,  and 

winnowed  a  chattering  wind 
'And  many  a  soul  wherefrom  he  stole,  but  his  we 

cannot  find : 


TOiMLINSON  137 

'We  have  handled  him,   we  have  dandled  him,  we 

have  seared  him  to  the  bone, 
*And  sure  if  tooth  and  nail  show  truth  he  has  no  soul 

of  his  own.' 
The  Devil  he  bowed  his  head   on   his  breast  and 

rumbled  deep  and  low : — 
'I'm  all  o'er-sib  to  Adam's  breed  that  I  should  bid 

him  go. 
*Yet  close  we  lie,  and  deep  we  lie,  and  if  I  gave  him 

place, 
*My  gentlemen  that  are  so  proud  would  flout  me  to 

my  face; 
'They'd  call  my  house  a  common  stews  and  me  a 

careless  host, 
'And — I  would  not  anger  my  gentlemen  for  the  sake 

of  a  shiftless  ghost.' 
The    Devil    he    looked    at   the    mangled   Soul   that 

prayed  to  feel  the  flame, 
And  he  thought  of  Holy  Charity,  but  he  thought  of 

his  own  good  name  : 
'Now  ye  could  haste  my  coal  to  waste,  and  sit  ye 

down  to  fry : 
'Did  ye  think  of  that  theft  for  yourself?'   said  he; 

and  Tomlinson  said  'Ay  1 ' 


138  TOMLINSON 

The  Devil  he  blew  an  outward  breath,  for  his  heart 

was  free  from  care : 
'Ye  have  scarce  the  soul  of  a  louse,'   he  said,   'but 

the  roots  of  sin  are  there, 
*And  for  that  sin  should  ye  come  in  were  I  the  lord 

alone. 
*But  sinful  pride  has  rule  inside — and  mightier  than 

my  own. 
'Honour  and  Wit,  fore-damned  they  sit,  to  each  his 

priest  and  whore : 
'Nay,  scarce  I  dare  myself  go  there,  and  you  they'd 

torture  sore. 
'Ye  are  neither  spirit  nor  spirk,'  he  said;  'ye  are 

neither  book  nor  brute — 
'Go,  get  ye  back  to  the  flesh  again  for  the  sake  of 

Man's  repute. 
'I'm  all  o'er-sib  to  Adam's  breed  that  I  should  mock 

your  pain, 
'But  look  that  ye  win  to  worthier  sin  ere  ye  come 

back  again. 
'Get   hence,    the  hearse  is  at  your  door — the  grim 

black  stallions  wait — 
'They  bear  your  clay  to  place  to-day.     Speed,  lest 

ye  come  too  late ! 


TOMLINSON  139 

*Go   back    to    Earth   with  a  lip  unsealed — go  back 

with  an  open  eye, 
'And  carry  my  word  to  the  Sons  of  Men  or  ever  ye 

come  to  die : 
'That  the  sin  they  do  by  two  and  two  they  must  pay 

for  one  by  one — 
*And  .   .   .  the  God  that  you  took  from  a  printed 

book  be  with  you,  Tomlinson! ' 


BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS 


To  T.  A. 

I  have  made  for  you  a  song^ 
And  it  may  be  right  or  wrong. 

But  only  you  can  tell  me  ififs  true; 
I  have  tried  for  to  explain 
Both  your  pleasure  and  your  pain. 

And,  Thomas,  here's  my  best  respects  to  you  ! 
Oh,  there'll  surely  come  a  day 
When  thef  II  grant  you  all  your  pay, 

And  treat  you  as  a  Christian  ought  to  do  ; 
So,  U7itil  that  day  coffies  round, 
Heaven  keep  you  safe  and  sound, 

And,  Thomas,  here's  my  best  respects  to  you. 

R.  K. 


DANNY   DEEVER 

'What  are  the  bugles    blowin'  for?'   said  Files-on- 

Parade. 
'To    turn   you    out,    to    turn   you    out,'   the    Colour- 
Sergeant  said. 
'  What   makes   you   look   so   white,  so  white  ? '    said 

Files-on- Parade. 
*  I'm  dreadin'  what  I've  got  to  watch,'  the  Colour- 
Sergeant  said. 

For  they're    hangin'  Danny  Deever,  you  can 

hear  the  Dead  March  play, 
The    regiment's    in    'ollow    square  —  they're 

hangin'  him  to-day ; 
They've  taken  of  his  buttons  off  an'  cut  his 

stripes  away, 
An*    they're    hangin'    Danny    Deever    in    the 
mornin'. 

143 


144  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

*  What  makes  the   rear-rank  breathe  so   'ard  ? '   said 

Files-on-Parade. 
*It's     bitter    cold,    it's     bitter    cold/    the     Colour- 
Sergeant  said. 
MVhat  makes  that  front-rank  man   fall  down?'   says 

Files-on-Parade. 
*A  touch  o'  sun,  a  touch  o'  sun,'  the  Colour-Sergeant 
said. 

They    are    hangin'    Danny   Deever,   they   are 

marchin'  of  'im  round. 
They  'ave  'alted  Danny  Deever  by  'is   coffin 

on  the  ground ; 
.An'  'e'U  swing  in  'arf  a  minute  for  a  sneakin' 

shootin'  hound — 
O    they're     hangin'    Danny    Deever    in    the 
mornin'  ! 

*  'Is  cot  was  right- 'and  cot  to    mine,'  said  Files-on- 

Parade. 

*  'E's    sleepin*    out    an'    far    to-night,'    the    Colour- 

Sergeant  said. 

*  I've  drunk  'is  beer  a  score  o'  times,'  said  Files-on- 

Parade. 

*  'E's  drinkin'  bitter  beer  alone,'  the  Colour- Sergeant 

said. 


DANNY   DEEVER  145 

They  are  hangin'   Danny  Deever,   you  must 

mark  'im  to  'is  place, 
For  'c  shot  a   comrade   sleepin' — you   must 

look  'im  in  the  face; 
Nine  'undred  of  'is  county  an'  the  regiment's 

disgrace, 
While  they're  hangin'   Danny  Deever  in  the 

mornin'. 

'What's  that  so  black  agin  the  sun?*  said  Files-on- 

Parade. 
'It's    Danny    fightin'    'ard    for    life,'    the    Colour- 
Sergeant  said. 
'What's  that  that  whimpers  over'ead?'  said  Files- 

on- Parade. 
'It's  Danny's  soul  that's  passin'  now,'  the  Colour- 
Sergeant  said. 

For   they're    done   with   Danny  Deever,   you 

can  'ear  the  quickstep  play, 
The     regiment's    in    column,     an'     they're 

marchin'  us  away; 
Ho !    the    young    recruits    are    shakin',    an' 

they'll  want  their  beer  to-day, 
After     hangin'       Danny      Deever     in      the 
mornin'. 

K 


TOMMY 

I  WENT  into  a  public-'ouse  to  get  a  pint  o'  beer, 
The  publican  'e  up  an'  sez,  'We  serve  no  red-coats 

here. ' 
The  girls  be'ind  the  bar  they  laughed  an'  giggled 

fit  to  die, 
I  outs  into  the  street  again  an'  to  myself  sez  I : 

O   it's  Tommy   this,    an'    Tommy   that,  an' 

'Tommy,  go  away'; 
But   it's   'Thank  you.   Mister  Atkins,'   when 

the  band  begins  to  play. 
The  band  begins  to  play,  my  boys,  the  band 

begins  to  play, 
O  it's  'Thank  you,  Mister  Atkins,'  when  the 

band  begins  to  play. 

I  went  into  a  theatre  as  sober  as  could  be, 
They  gave  a  drunk  civilian  room,  but  'adn't  none 
for  me ; 
146 


TOMMY  147 

They  sent  mc  to  the  gallery  or  round  the  music- 'alls, 
But  when  it  comes  to  fightin',   Lord!  they'll  shove 
me  in  the  stalls ! 

For  it's  Tommy   this,   an'  Tommy  that,   an' 

'Tommy,  wait  outside  ' ; 
But  it's  'Special  train  for  Atkins'  when  the 

trooper's  on  the  tide, 
The   troopship's  on  the  tide,    my  boys,   the 

troopship's  on  the  tide, 
O   it's   'Special   train  for  Atkins'  when  the 

trooper's  on  the  tide. 

Yes,  makin'  mock  o'  uniforms  that  guard  you  while 
you  sleep 

Is  cheaper  than  them  uniforms,  an'  they're  starva- 
tion cheap; 

An'  hustlin'  drunken  soldiers  when  they're  goin' 
large  a  bit 

Is  five  times  better  business  than  paradin'  in  full  kit. 

Then  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that, 
an'  'Tommy,  'ow's  yer  soul?  ' 

But  it's  'Thin  red  line  of  'eroes '  when  the 
drums  begin  to  roll, 


148  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

The  drums  begin  to  roll,  my  boys,  the  drums 

begin  to  roll, 
O  it's   *Thin  red  line  of   'eroes '  when  the 

drums  begin  to  rolL 

We  aren't  no  thin  red  'eroes,  nor  we  aren't  no  black- 
guards too, 

But  single  men  in  barricks,  most  remarkable  like 
you; 

An'  if  sometimes  our  conduck  isn't  all  your  fancy 
paints : 

Why,  single  men  in  barricks  don't  grow  into  plaster 
saints; 

While  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an' 

'Tommy,  fall  be'ind,' 
But  it's  'Please  to  walk  in  front,  sir,'  when 

there's  trouble  in  the  wind, 
There's  trouble  in  the  wind,  my  boys,  there's 

trouble  in  the  wind, 
O  it's  'Please  to  walk  in  front,   sir,'  when 

there's  trouble  in  the  wind. 

You  talk  o'  better  food  for  us,  an'  schools,  an'  fires, 

an'  all : 
We'll  wait  for  extry  rations  if  you  treat  us  rational. 


TOMMY  149 

Don't  mess  about  the  cook-room  slops,  but  prove  it 
to  our  face 

The  Widow's  Uniform  is  not  the  soldier-man's  dis- 
grace. 

For  it's  Tommy  this,   an'   Tommy  that,   an' 

*  Chuck  him  out,  the  brute  ! ' 
But   it's   'Saviour  of    'is  country,'  when  the 

guns  begin  to  shoot; 
Yes   it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an' 

anything  you  please ; 
But  Tommy  ain't  a  bloomin'   fool — you  bet 

that  Tommy  sees ! 


'FUZZY-WUZZY' 

(SOUDAN    EXPEDITIONARY    FORCE) 

We've  fought  with  many  men  acrost  the  seas, 

An'  some  of  'em  was  brave  an'  some  was  not 
The  Paythan  an'  the  Zulu  an'  Burmese; 

But  the  Fuzzy  was  the  finest  o'  the  lot. 
We  never  got  a  ha'porth's  change  of  'im: 

'E  squatted  in  the  scrub  an'  'ocked  our  'orses, 
'E  cut  our  sentries  up  at  SusJcim, 

An'  'e  played  the  cat  an'  banjo  with  our  forces. 

So  'ere's  /^  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  at  your  'ome 
in  the  Soudan; 

You're  a  pore  benighted  'eathen  but  a  first- 
class  fightin'  man; 

We  gives  you  your  certificate,  an'  if  you  want 
it  signed 

We'll  come  an'  'ave  a  romp  with  you  when- 
ever you're  inclined. 

160 


«FUZZY-VVUZZY'  1'>1 

We  took  our  chanst  among  the  Kybcr  'ills, 

The  Boers  knocked  us  silly  at  a  mile, 
The  Burman  give  us  Irrivvaddy  chills. 

An'  a  Zulu  impi  dished  us  up  in  style: 
But  all  we  ever  got  from  such  as  they 

Was  pop  to  what  the  Fuzzy  made  us  swaller ; 
We  'eld  our  bloomin'  own,  the  papers  say. 
But  man  for  man  the  Fuzzy  knocked  us  'oiler. 

Then   'ere's   to   you.    Fuzzy- Wuzzy,    an'    the 

missis  and  the  kid; 
Our  orders  was  to  break  you,   an'  of  course 

we  went  an'  did. 
We  sloshed  you  with  Martinis,  an'  it  wasn't 

'ardly  fair; 
But   for  all  the  odds  agin'   you,   Fuzzy-Wuz 
you  broke  the  square. 

'E  'asn't  got  no  papers  of  'is  own, 

'E  'asn't  got  no  medals  nor  rewards, 
So  we  must  certify  the  skill  'e's  shown 

In  usin'  of  'is  long  two-'anded  swords: 
When  'e's  'oppin'  in  an'  out  among  the  bush 

With  'is  coffin-'eaded  shield  an'  shovel-spear, 
An  'appy  day  with  Fuzzy  on  the  rush 

Will  last  an  'ealthy  Tommy  for  a  year. 


152  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS 

So    'ere's    to    you,    Fuzzy-Wuzzy,    an^    your 

friends  which  are  no  more, 
If  we  'adn't  lost  some  messmates  we  would 

'elp  you  to  deplore; 
But  give  an'  take's  the  gospel,  an'  we'll  call 

the  bargain  fair, 
For    if    you    'ave    lost    more    than    us,    you 

crumpled  up  the  square ! 

'E  rushes  at  the  smoke  when  we  let  drive, 

An',  before  we  know,  'e's  'ackin'  at  our  'ead; 
'E's  all  'ot  sand  an'  ginger  when  alive, 

An'  'e's  generally  shammin'  when  'e's  dead. 
'E's  a  daisy,'e's  a  ducky,  'e's  a  lamb! 

'E's  a  injia-rubber  idiot  on  the  spree, 
'E's  the  on'y  thing  that  doesn't  give  a  damn 
For  a  Regiment  o'  British  Infantree ! 

So  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,   at  your  'ome 

in  the  Soudan; 
You're  a  pore  benighted  'eathen  but  a  first- 
class  fightin'  man; 
An'    'ere's    to  you,    Fuzzy-Wuzzy,   with  your 

'ayrick  'ead  of  'air — 
You  big  black  boundin'  beggar — for  you  broke 
a  British  square ! 


SOLDIER,    SOLDIER 

*  Soldier,  soldier,  come  from  the  wars. 

Why  don't  you  march  with  my  true  love? ' 

*We're  fresh  from  off  the  ship  an'   'e's  maybe  give 

the  slip, 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love.' 

New  love !     True  love ! 

Best  go  look  for  a  new  love. 

The  dead  they  cannot  rise,  an'  you'd  better 

dry  your  eyes. 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love. 

'Soldier,  soldier,  come  from  the  wars, 

What  did  you  see  o'  my  true  love? ' 

*I  seed  'im  serve  the  Queen  in  a  suit  o'  rifle-green. 

An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love.' 

'Soldier,  soldier,  come  from  the  wars, 
Did  ye  see  no  more  o'  my  true  love? ' 

153 


154  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

'I  seed  'im  runnin'  by  when  the  shots  begun  to  fly — 
But  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love.' 

'Soldier,  soldier,  come  from  the  wars, 

Did  aught  take  'arm  to  my  true  love? ' 

*I  couldn't  see  the  fight,   for  the  smoke  it  lay  so 

white — 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love.^ 

'Soldier,  soldier,  come  from  the  wars, 

I'll  up  an'  tend  to  my  true  love ! ' 

*'E's  lying  on  the  dead  with  a  bullet  through  'is  'ead, 

An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love.' 

'Soldier,  soldier,  come  from  the  wars, 

I'll  down  an'  die  with  my  true  love ! ' 

*The  pit  we  dug' 11  'ide  'im  an'  the  twenty  men  beside 

'im — 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love.' 

'Soldier,  soldier,  come  from  the  wars. 
Do  you  bring  no  sign  from  my  true  love? ' 
'I  bring  a  lock  of  'air  that  'e  alius  used  to  wear, 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love.' 


SOLDIER,  SOLDIER  165 

'Soldier,  soldier,  come  from  the  wars, 

O  then  I  know  it's  true  I've  lost  my  true  love ! ' 

*An'  I  tell  you  truth  again — when  you've  lost  the 

feel  o'  pain 
You'd  best  take  me  for  your  true  love.' 

True  love  !     New  love ! 

Best  take  Mm  for  a  new  love. 

The  dead  they  cannot  rise,  an'  you'd  better 

dry  your  eyes. 
An'  you'd  best  take  'im  for  your  true  love. 


SCREW-GUNS 

Smokin'    my   pipe   on    the    mountings,    sniffin'    the 

mornin'  cool, 
I  walks  in  my  old  brown  gaiters  along  o'  my  old 

brown  mule, 
With  seventy  gunners  be'ind  me,  an'  never  a  beggar 

forgets 
It's   only   the   pick  of  the  Army  that   handles  the 

dear  little  pets— 'Tss!  'Tss! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns,  the  screw- 
guns  they  all  love  you ! 

So  when  we  call  round  with  a  few  guns,  o' 
course  you  will  know  what  to  do — hoo! 
hoo! 

Jest  send  in  your  Chief  an'  surrender — it's 
worse  if  you  fights  or  you  runs: 

You  can  go  where  you  please,  you  can  skid 
up   the   trees,    but   you    don't  get    away 
from  the  guns. 
156 


SCREW-GUNS  167 

They  sends  us  along  where  the  roads  are,  but  mostly 

we  goes  where  they  ain't: 
We'd  climb  up  the  side  of  a  sign-board  an'  trust  to 

the  stick  o'  the  paint : 
We've  chivied  the  Naga  an'  Looshai,  we've  give  the 

Afreedeeman  fits, 
For  we  fancies  ourselves  at  two  thousand,   we  guns 

that  are  built  in  two  bits— 'Tss !  'Tss  1 
For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns,  etc. 

If  a  man  doesn't  work,  why,  we  drills  'im  an'  teaches 

'im  'ow  to  behave; 
If  a  beggar  can't  march,  why,  we  kills  'im  an'  rattles 

'im  into  'is  grave. 
You've  got  to  stand  up  to  our  business  an'  spring 

without  snatchin'  or  fuss. 
D'you  say  that  you  sweat  with  the  iield-guns?     By 

God,  you  must  lather  with  us— 'Tss !  'Tss ! 
For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns,  etc. 

The   eagles  is  screamin'    around  us,   the  riyer's  a- 

moanin'  below. 
We're  clear  o'  the  pine  an'  the  oak-scrub,  we're  out 

on  the  rocks  an'  the  snow, 


158  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

An'  the  wind  is  as  thin  as  a  whip-lash  what  carries 

away  to  the  plains 
The  rattle  an'  stamp  o'  the  lead-mules — the  jinglety- 

jink  o'  the  chains — 'Tss!  'Tss! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns,  etc. 

There's  a  wheel  on  the  Horns  o'  the  Mornin',  an'  a 

wheel  on  the  edge  o'  the  Pit, 
An'  a  drop  into  nothin'  beneath  you  as  straight  as  a 

beggar  can  spit : 
With  the  sweat  runnin'  out  o'  your  shirt-sleeves,  an' 

the  sun  off  the  snov/  in  your  face, 
An'  'arf  o'  the  men  on  the  drag-ropes  to  hold  the 

old  gun  in  'er  place — 'Tss!  'Tss! 
For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns,  etc. 

Smokin'  my  pipe  on  the  mountings,  sniffin'  the 
mornin'  cool, 

1  climbs  in  my  old  brown  gaiters  along  o'  my  old 
brown  mule. 

The  monkey  can  say  what  our  road  was — the  wild- 
goat  'e  knows  where  we  passed. 

Stand  easy,  you  long-eared  old  darlin's!  Out  drag- 
ropes  !     With  shrapnel !     Hold  fast — 'Tss !  'Tss ! 


SCREW-GUNS  159 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — the  screw- 
guns  they  all  love  you ! 

So  when  we  take  tea  with  a  few  guns,  o' 
course  you  will  know  what  to  do — hoo! 
hoo! 

Just  send  in  your  Chief  and  surrender — it's 
worse  if  you  fights  or  you  runs: 

You  may  hide  in  the  caves,  they'll  be  only 
your  graves,  but  you  can't  get  away  from 
the  guns ! 


CELLS 

I've  a  head  like  a  concertina:  I've  a  tongue  like  a 

button-stick : 
I've  a  mouth  like  an  old  potato,  and  I'm  more  than 

a  little  sick, 
But  I've  had  my  fun  o'   the  Corp'ral's  Guard:  I've 

made  the  cinders  fly, 
And  I'm  here  in  the  Clink  for  a  thundering  drink 

and  blacking  the  Corporal's  eye. 

With  a  second-hand  overcoat  under  my  head, 
And  a  beautiful  view  of  the  yard. 
Oh,  it's  pack-drill  for  me  and  a  fortnight's  C.B. 
For  'drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard ! ' 
Mad  drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard — 
'Strewth,  but  I  socked  it  them  hard! 
So  it's  pack-drill  for  me  and  a  fortnight's  C.B. 
For  'drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard.' 

160  Copyright,  1892,  by  Macmillan  St  Co. 


CELLS  161 

I  started  o'    canteen  porter,    I   finished   o'   canteen 

beer, 
But  a  dose  o'  gin  that  a  mate  slipped  in,  it  was  that 

brought  me  here. 
'Twas  that  and  an  extry  double  Guard  that  rubbed 

my  nose  in  the  dirt; 
But  I  fell  away  with  the  Corp'ral's  stock  and  the 

best  of  the  Corp'ral's  shirt. 


I  left  my  cap  in  a  public-house,   my  boots   in  the 

public  road, 
And  Lord  knows  where,  and  I  don't  care,  my  belt 

and  my  tunic  goed, 
They'll  stop  my  pay,  they'll  cut  away  the  stripes  I 

used  to  wear, 
But  I  left  my  mark  on  the  Corp'ral's  face,  and  I 

think  he'll  keep  it  there! 


My  wife  she  cries  on  the  barrack-gate,  my  kid  in 

the  barrack-yard, 
It  ain't  that  I  mind  the  Ord'ly  room — it's  that  that 

cuts  so  hard. 


162  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

I'll  take  my  oath  before  them  both  that  I  will  sure 

abstain, 
But  as  soon  as  I'm  in  with  a  mate  and  gin,  I  know 

I'll  do  it  again! 

With  a  second-hand  overcoat  under  my  head 
And  a  beautiful  view  of  the  yard, 
Yes,  it's  pack-drill  for  me  and  a  fortnight's  C.B. 
For  *  drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard.' 
Mad  drunk  and  resisting  the  Guard — 
'Strewth,  but  I  socked  it  them  hard ! 
So  it's  pack-drill  with  me  and  a  fortnight's  C.B. 
For  Mrunk  and  resisting  the  Guard.' 


1 


GUNGA   DIN 

You  may  talk  o'  gin  and  beer 

When  you're  quartered  safe  out  'ere, 

An'  you're  sent  to  penny-fights  an'  Aldershot  it; 

But  when  it  comes  to  slaughter 

You  will  do  your  work  on  water, 

An'  you'll  lick  the  bloomin'  boots  of  'im  that's  got  it, 

Now  in  Injia's  sunny  clime, 

Where  I  used  to  spend  my  time 

A-servin'  of  'Er  Majesty  the  Queen, 

Of  all  them  blackfaced  crew 

The  finest  man  I  knew 

Was  our  regimental  bhisti,  Gunga  Din. 

He  was 'Din!  Din!  Din! 

You  limping  lump  o'  brick-dust,  Gunga  Din! 

Hi !  slippery  hitherao  ! 

Water,  get  it !     Panee  lao  !  ^ 

You  squidgy-nosed  old  idol,  Gunga  Din.' 

The  uniform  'e  wore 
Was  nothin'  much  before, 

1  Bring  water  swiftly. 

163 


1<j4  barrack-room    BALLADS 

An'  rather  less  than  'arf  o'  that  be'ind, 

For  a  piece  o'  twisty  rag 

An'  a  goatskin  water-bag 

Was  all  the  field-equipment  'e  could  find. 

When  the  sweatin'  troop-train  lay 

In  a  sidin'  through  the  day, 

Where  the  'eat  would  make  your  bloomin'  eyebrows 

crawl, 
We  shouted  'Harry  By ! '  ^ 
Till  our  throats  were  bricky-dry, 
Then  we  wopped  'im  'cause  'e  couldn't  serve  us  all. 

It  was  'Din!  Din!  Din! 

You    'eathen,   where  the   mischief    'ave   you 
been? 

You  put  some  juldee  ^  in  it 

Or  I'll  marrow  you  this  minute^ 

If  you  don't  fill  up  my  helmet,  Gunga  Din! 

'E  would  dot  an'  carry  one 
Till  the  longest  day  was  done ; 

An'  'e  didn't  seem  to  know  the  use  o'  fear. 
If  we  charged  or  broke  or  cut, 
You  could  bet  your  bloomin'  nut, 

'E'd  be  waitin'  fifty  paces  right  flank  rear. 

1  Mr,  Atkins'  equivalent  for  *  O  brother.' 

2  Be  quick.  ^  njt  you. 


GUNGA   DIN  165 

With  Ms  mussick^  on  'is  back, 
'E  would  skip  with  our  attack, 
An'  watch  us  till  the  bugles  made  'Retire,' 
An'  for  all  'is  dirty  'ide 
'E  was  white,  clear  white,  inside 
When  'e  went  to  tend  the  wounded  under  fire ! 
It  was 'Din!  Din!  Din!' 
With  the  bullets  kickin'  dust-spots  on  the  green. 
When  the  cartridges  ran  out, 
You  could  hear  the  front-files  shout, 
'Hi!  ammunition-mules  an'  Gunga  Din!' 

I  sha'n't  forgit  the  night 

When  I  dropped  be'ind  the  fight 

With  a  bullet  where  my  belt-plate  should  'a'  been. 
I  was  chokin'  mad  with  thirst. 
An'  the  man  that  spied  me  first 

Was  our  good  old  grinnin',  gruntin'  Gunga  Din. 
'E  lifted  up  my  'ead, 
An'  he  plugged  me  where  I  bled. 

An'  'e  guv  me  'arf-a-pint  o'  water-green: 
It  was  crawlin'  and  it  stunk. 
But  of  all  the  drinks  I've  drunk, 

I'm  gratefuUest  to  one  from  Gunga  Din. 

1  Water  skin. 


166  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

It  was  'Din'  Din!  Din!' 
'Ere's  a  beggar  with  a  bullet  through  'is  spleen; 

'E's  chawin'  up  the  ground, 

An'  'e's  kickin'  all  around : 
For  Gawd's  sake  git  the  water,  Gunga  Din! 


'E  carried  me  away 
To  where  a  dooli  lay, 
An'  a  bullet  come  an'  drilled  the  beggar  clean. 
'E  put  me  safe  inside. 
An'  just  before  'e  died : 
*I  'ope  you  liked  your  drink,'  sez  Gunga  Din. 
So  I'll  meet  'im  later  on 
At  the  place  where  'e  is  gone — 
Where  it's  always  double  drill  and  no  canteen; 
'E'U  be  squattin'  on  the  coals, 
Givin'  drink  to  poor  damned  souls, 
An'  I'll  get  a  swig  in  hell  from  Gunga  Din! 
Yes,  Din!  Din!  Din! 
You  Lazarushian-leather  Gunga  Din! 

Though  I've  belted  you  and  flayed  you, 
By  the  living  Gawd  that  made  you, 
You're  a  better  man  than  I  am,  Gunga  Din! 


OONTS 

(northern    INDIA    TRANSPORT   TRAIN) 

Wot  makes  the  soMier's  'eart  to  penk,  wot  makes 

him  to  perspire? 
It  isn't  standin'  up  to  charge  nor  lyin'  down  to  fire; 
But  it's  everlastin'  waitin'  on  a  everlastin'  road 
For  the  commissariat  camel  an'  'is  commissariat  load. 
O  the  oont/  O  the  oont,  O  the  commissariat 
oont ! 
With  'is  silly  neck  a-bobbin'  like  a  basket 
full  o'  snakes; 
We  packs  'im  like  an  idol,  an'  you  ought  to 
'ear  'im  grunt, 
An'  when  we  gets  'im  loaded  up  'is  blessed 
girth-rope  breaks. 

Wot  makes  the  rear-guard  swear  so  'ard  when  night 

is  drorin'  in. 
An'  every  native  follower  is  shiverin'  for  'is  skin? 

1  Camel — oo  is  pronounced  like  «  in  'bull,'  but  by  Mr.  Atkins  to 

rhyme  with  '  front.* 

167 


168  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

It  ain't  the  chanst  o'  being  rushed  by  Paythans  from 

the  'ills, 
It's  the  commissariat  camel  puttin'  on  'is  bloomin' 
frills! 

O  the  oont,  O  the  oont,   O  the  hairy  scary 
oont! 
A-trippin'  over  tent-ropes  when  we've  got 
the  night  alarm ! 
We  socks  'im  with  a  stretcher-pole  an'  'eads 
'im  off  in  front, 
An'  when  we've  saved  'is  bloomin'  life  'e 
chaws  our  bloomin'  arm. 


The  'orse  'e  knows  above  a  bit,  the  bullock's  but  a 

fool. 
The  elephant 's   a  gentleman,  the  battery-mule's  a 

mule ; 
But  the  commissariat  cam-u-el,  when  all  is  said  an' 

done, 
'E  's  a  devil  an'  a  ostrich  an'  a  orphan-child  in  one. 
O  the  oont,  C)  the  oont,  O  the  Gawd-forsaken 
oont! 
The   lumpy-'umpy   'ummin'-bird  a-singin' 
where  'e  lies, 


OOiNTS  16d 

'E's   blocked   the   whole   division   from   the 
rear-guard  to  the  front, 
An'    when    we    get    him    up    again — the 
beggar  goes  an'  dies! 

E'll   gall   an'   chafe   an'   lame   an'   fight — 'e  smells 

most  awful  vile; 
E'll  lose  'isself  for  ever  if  you  let  'im  stray  a  mile; 
E's  game  to  graze  the  'ole  day  long  an'   'owl  the 

'ole  night  through, 
An'  when  'e  comes  to  greasy  ground  'e  splits  'isself 
in  two. 

O   the   oont,    O   the   oont,    O   the    floppin', 
droppin'  oont! 
When  'is  long  legs  give  from  under  an'  'is 
meltin'  eye  is  dim, 
The  tribes  is  up  be'ind  us,   and  the  tribes 
is  out  in  front — 
It  ain't  no  jam  for  Tommy,  but  it's  kites 
an'  crows  for  'im. 

So   when   the   cruel   march   is   done,   an'  when  the 

roads  is  blind. 
An'  when  we  sees  the  camp  in  front  an'  'ears  the 

shots  be'ind, 


170  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS 

Ho  then  we  strips  'is  saddle  off,  and  all   'is  woes  is 

past: 
'E  thinks  on  us  that  used  'im  so,   and  gets  revenge 
at  last. 

O    the    oont,    O    the    oont,    O   the   floatin', 
bloatin'  oont! 
The  late  lamented  camel  in  the  water-cut 
'e  lies; 
We  keeps  a  mile  behind  'im  an'  we  keeps  a 
mile  in  front, 
But   'e   gets    into  the  drinkin'-casks,    and 
then  o'  course  we  dies. 


LOOT 

If    youVe    ever   stole    a    pheasant-egg    be'ind    the 
keeper's  back, 
If  you've  ever  snigged  the  washin'  from  the  line, 
If  you've  ever  crammed  a  gander  in  your  bloomin' 
'aversack, 
You  will  understand  this  little  song  o'  mine. 
But   the  service  rules  are  'ard,   and  from  such  we 
are  debarred, 
For  the  same  with  English  morals  does  not  suit. 
{Cornet:  Toot!  toot!) 
W'y,  they  call  a  man  a  robber  if  'e  stuffs  'is  marchin' 
clobber 
With  the — 
{Chorus.')  Loo!  loo!     Lulu!  lulu!    Loo!  loo!    Loot! 
loot!  loot! 

Ow  the  loot  1 
Bloomin'  loot! 
That's  the  thing  to  make  the  boys  git  up  an' 
shoot ! 

171 


172  BARRACK-ROOiM    BALLADS 

It's  the  same  with  dogs  an'  men, 
If  you'd  make  'em  come  again 
Clap  'em  forward  with  a  Loo!  loo!     Lulu! 
Loot! 
{ff)  Whoopee !    Tear  'im,  puppy  !     Loo !  loo !    Lulu  I 
Loot!  loot!  loot! 


If   you've   knocked   a   nigger   edgeways    when    'e's 
thrustin'  for  your  life, 
You  must  leave  'im  very  careful  where  'e  fell; 
An'  may  thank  your  stars  an'  gaiters  if  you  didn't 
feel  'is  knife 
That  you  ain't  told  off  to  bury  'im  as  well. 
Then  the  sweatin'  Tommies  wonder  as  they  spade 
the  beggars  under 
Why  lootin'  should  be  entered  as  a  crime; 
So  if  my  song  you'll  'ear,  I  will  learn  you  plain  an' 
clear 
'Ow  to  pay  yourself  for  fightin'  overtime 
{Chorus.)     With  the  loot,  etc. 

Now  remember  when  you're  'acking  round  a  gilded 
Burma  god 
That  'is  eyes  is  very  often  precious  stones; 


LOOT  173 

An'    if    you   treat   a    nigger   to  a  dose  o'   cleanin'- 
rod 
^E's  like  to  show  you  everything  'e  owns. 
When  'e  won't  prodooce  no  more,  pour  some  water 
on  the  floor 
Where  you  'ear  it  answer  'ollow  to  the  boot 
(^Cornet:  Toot!  toot!) — 
When  the  ground  begins  to  sink,  shove  your  baynick 
down  the  chink, 
An'  you're  sure  to  touch  the — 
{Chorus.)     Loo!  loo!     Lulu!     Loot!  loot!  loot! 
Ow  the  loot !  etc. 


When  from  'ouse  to  'ouse  you're  'unting,  you  must 
always  work  in  pairs — 
It  'alves  the  gain,  but  safer  you  will  find — 
For  a  single  man  gets  bottled  on  them  twisty-wisty 
stairs. 
An'  a  woman  comes  and  clobs  'im  from  be'ind. 
When  you've   turned   'em  inside  out,   an'   it  seems 
beyond  a  doubt 
As  if  there  weren't  enough  to  dust  a  flute 
{Cornet:  Toot!  toot!) — 


174  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

Before  you  sling  your  'ook,at  the  'ouse-tops  take  a  look, 
For  it's  underneath  the  tiles  they  'ide  the  loot. 
{Chorus.)     Ow  the  loot,  etc. 

You  can  mostly  square  a  Sergint  an'  a  Quartermaster 
too, 
If  you  only  take  the  proper  way  to  go; 
/  could  never  keep  my  pickin's,   but  I've  learned 
you  all  I  knew — 
An'  don't  you  never  say  I  told  you  so. 
An'  now  I'll  bid  good-by,  for  I'm  gettin'  rather  dry^ 
An'  I  see  another  tunin'  up  to  toot  (^Cornet :  Toot! 
toot!) — 
So  'ere's  good-luck  to  those  that  wears  the  Widow's 
clo'es, 
An'  the  Devil  send  'em  all  they  want  o'  loot! 
(^Chorus.)     Yes,  the  loot, 
Bloomin'  loot. 
In  the  tunic  an'  the  mess-tin  an'  the  boot! 
It's  the  same  with  dogs  an'  men. 
If  you'd  make  'em  come  again 
(Jff)  Whoop  'em  forward  with  a  Loo!  loo!     Lulu! 

Loot!  loot!  loot! 
Heeya!     Sick    'im,    puppy!      Loo!    loo!     Lulu! 
Loot!  loot!  loot! 


'SNARLEYOW ' 

This  ^appened  in  a  battle  to  a  batt'ry  of  the  corps 
Which  is  first  among  the  women  an'  amazin'  first  in 

war; 
An'  what  the  bloomin'  battle  was  I  don't  remember 

now, 
But  Two's  off-lead  'e  answered  to  the  name  o'  SnarU- 

yow, 

Down  in  the  Infantry,  nobody  cares; 
Down  in  the  Cavalry,  Colonel  'e  swears; 
But  down  in  the  lead  with  the  wheel  at  the  flog 
Turns  the  bold  Bombardier  to  a  little  whipped 
dog! 

They  was  movin'  into  action,  they  was  needed  very 

sore, 
To  learn  a  little  schoolin'  to  a  native  army  corps, 

175 


176  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

They  'ad  nipped  against  an  uphill,  they  was  tuckin' 

down  the  brow, 
When  a  tricky,  trundlin'  round-shot  give  the  knock 

to  Snarleyow, 

They  cut  'im  loose  an'  left  'im — 'e  was  almost  tore 

in  two — 
But  he  tried  to  follow  after  as  a  well-trained   'orse 

should  do; 
'E  went  an'   fouled    the    limber,    an'    the    Driver's 

Brother  squeals : 
*Pull  up,  pull  up  for  Snarleyow — 'is  'ead's  between 

'is  'eels! ' 

The  Driver  'umped  'is  shoulder,  for  the  wheels  was 
goin'  round, 

An'  there  aren't  no  *Stop,  conductor!'  when  a 
batt'ry's  changin'  ground; 

Sez  'e:  'I  broke  the  beggar  in,  an'  very  sad  I  feels, 

But  I  couldn't  pull  up,  not  for  you — your  'ead  be- 
tween your  'eels ! ' 

'E  'adn't  'ardly  spoke  the  word,  before  a  droppin' 

shell 
A  little  right  the  batt'ry  an'  between  the  sections  fell; 


'SNARLEYOW  177 

An'  when  the  smoke   'ad  cleared  away,   before  the 

limber  wheels, 
There  lay  the  Driver's  Brother  with  'is  'ead  between 

'is  'eels. 

Then  sez  the  Driver's  Brother,  an'  'is  words  was  very 

plain, 
'For  Gawd's  own  sake  get  over  me,  an'  put  me  out 

o'  pain.' 
They  saw  'is  wounds  was  mortial,  an'  they  judged 

that  it  was  best. 
So  they  took  an'  drove  the  limber  straight  across  'is 

back  an'  chest. 

The  Driver  'e  give  nothin'  'cept  a  little  coughin' 
grunt. 

But  'e  swung  'is  'orses  'andsome  when  it  came  to 
'Action  front! ' 

An'  if  one  wheel  was  juicy,  you  may  lay  your  Mon- 
day head 

'Twas  juicier  for  the  niggers  when  the  case  begun 
to  spread. 

The  moril  of  this  story,  it  is  plainly  to  be  seen : 
You  'avn't  got  no  families  when  servin'  of  the  Queen — 

M 


178  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

You  'avn't  got  no  brothers,  fathers,  sisters,  wives,  or 

sons — 
If  you  want  to  win  your  battles  take  an'  work  your 

bloomin'  guns! 

Down  in  the  Infantry,  nobody  cares; 
Down  in  the  Cavalry,  Colonel  'e  swears; 
But  down  in  the  lead  with  the  wheel  at  the  flog 
Turns  the  bold  Bombardier  to  a  little  whipped 
dogl 


THE   WIDOW   AT   WINDSOR 

'Ave  you  'card  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor 

With  a  hairy  gold  crown  on  'er  'ead? 
She  'as  ships  on  the  foam — she  'as  millions  at  'ome, 

An'  she  pays  us  poor  beggars  in  red. 
(Ow,  poor  beggars  in  red !) 
There's  'er  nick  on  the  cavalry  'orses, 

There's  'er  mark  on  the  medical  stores — 
An'  'er  troopers  you'll  find  with  a  fair  wind  be'ind 

That  takes  us  to  various  wars. 

(Poor  beggars ! — barbarious  wars !) 

Then  'ere's  to  the  Widow  at  Windsor, 
An'  'ere's  to  the  stores  an'  the  guns, 
The  men  an'  the  'orses  what  makes  up  the 
forces 
O'  Missis  Victorier's  sons. 

(Poor  beggars !  Victorier's  sons !) 

179 


180  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS 

Walk  wide  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor, 

For  'alf  o'  Creation  she  owns: 
We  'ave  bought  'er  the   same  with  the  sword  an' 
the  flame, 
An'  we've  salted  it  down  with  our  bones. 
(Poor  beggars! — it's  blue  with  our  bones!) 
Hands  off  o'  the  sons  of  the  Widow, 

Hands  off  o'  the  goods  in  'er  shop, 
For  the  Kings  must  come  down  an'  the  Emperors 
frown 
When  the  Widow  at  Windsor  says  'Stop  '  1 
(Poor  beggars! — we're  sent  to  say  *Stop  ' !) 

Then  'ere's  to  the  Lodge  o'  the  Widow, 
From  the  Pole  to  the  Tropics  it  runs — 

To  the  Lodge  that  we  tile  with  the  rank 
an'  the  file. 

An'  open  in  form  with  the  guns. 

(Poor  beggars ! — it's  always  they  guns !) 

We  'ave  'eard  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor, 

It's  safest  to  leave  'er  alone  : 
For  'er  sentries  we  stand  by  the  sea  an'  the  land 

Wherever  the  bugles  are  blown. 

(Poor  beggars ! — an'  don't  we  get  blown  1) 


THE  WIDOW   AT   WINDSOR  181 

Take  'old  o'  the  Wings  o'  the  Mornin', 
An'  flop  round  the  earth  till  you're  dead; 

But  you  won't  get  away  from  the  tune  that  they  play 
To  the  bloomin'  old  Rag  over'ead. 
(Poor  beggars! — it's  'ot  over'ead!) 

Then  'ere's  to  the  sons  o'  the  Widow 

Wherever,  'owever  thev  roam. 
'Ere's  all  they  desire,  an'  if  they  require 
A  speedy  return  to  their  'ome. 

(Poor     beggars! — they'll     never     see 
'ome  1) 


BELTS 

There   was   a  row   in  Silver  Street  that's   near  to 

Dublin  Quay, 
Between  an  Irish  regiment  an'  English  cavalree; 
It  started  at  Revelly  an'  it  lasted  on  till  dark : 
The  first  man  dropped  at  Harrison's,  the  last  forninst 

the  Park. 

For  it  was  *  Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's  one 

for  you ! ' 
An'  it  was  'Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's  done 

for  you ! ' 
O  buckle  an'  tongue 
Was  the  song  that  we  sung 
From  Harrison's  down  to  the  Park! 

There  was  a   row   in  Silver  Street — the  regiments 

was  out, 
They   called   us   'Delhi    Rebels,'   an'    we  answered 

'Threes  about!' 
182 


BELTS  183 

That  drew  them  like  a  hornet's  nest— we  met  them 

good  an'  large, 
The  English    at    the   double   an'    the    Irish   at   the 

charge. 

Then  it  was :  Belts — 

There  was  a   row  in  Silver  Street— an'  I  was  in  it 

too; 
We  passed  the  time  o'  day,  an'  then  the  belts  went 

whirraru ! 
I  misremember  what  occurred,  but  subsequint  the 

storm 
A  Freeynan' s  Journal Siipplemint  ^2JS,  all  my  uniform. 

O  it  was :  Belts — 

There   was   a   row   in   Silver   Street— they  sent  the 

Polls  there, 
The   English  were   too   drunk   to   know,   the   Irish 

didn't  care; 
But  when   they   grew   impertinint  we  simultaneous 

rose. 
Till    half    o'    them   was    Liffey   mud   an'    half   was 
tatthered  clo'es. 

For  it  was :  Belts — 


184  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

There   was   a   row   in    Silver    Street — it   might   ha' 

raged  till  now, 
But  some  one  drew  his  side-arm  clear,  an'  nobody 

knew  howj 
'Twas  Hogan  took  the  point  an'  dropped;  we  saw 

the  red  blood  run : 
An'  so  we  all  was  murderers  that  started  out  in  fun. 
While  it  was :  Belts — 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — but  that  put  down 

the  shine, 
Wid  each  man  whisperin'  to  his  next:  *'Twas  never 

work  o'  mine  ! ' 
We  went  away  like  beaten  dogs,  an'  down  the  street 

we  bore  him. 
The  poor  dumb  corpse  that  couldn't  tell  the  bhoys 

were  sorry  for  him. 

When  it  was :  Belts — 


There    was    a    row  in   Silver    Street — it   isn't   over 

yet. 

For  half  of  us  are  under  guard  wid  punishments  to 

get; 


BELTS  185 

'Tis  all  a  merricle  to  me  as  in  the  Clink  I  lie : 
There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — begod,   1  wonder 
why! 

But  it  was  'Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's  one 

for  you ! ' 
An'  it  was  'Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's  done 

for  you ! ' 
O  buckle  and  tongue 
Was  the  song  that  we  sung 
From  Harrison's  down  to  the  Park! 


THE  YOUNG  BRITISH   SOLDIER 

When  the  'arf-made  recruity  goes  out  to  the  East 
'E  acts  like  a  babe  an'  'e  drinks  like  a  beast, 
An'  'e  wonders  because  'e  is  frequent  deceased 
Ere  'e's  fit  for  to  serve  as  a  soldier, 
Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier. 
Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier. 
Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier, 
So-oldier  of  the  Queen! 

Now  all  you  recruities  what's  drafted  to-day, 
You  shut  up  your  rag- box  an'  'ark  to  my  lay. 
An'  I'll  sing  you  a  soldier  as  far  as  I  may: 
A  soldier  what's  fit  for  a  soldier. 
Fit,  fit,  fit  for  a  soldier. 

First  mind  you  steer  clear  o'  the  grog-sellers'  huts, 
For  they  sell  you  Fixed  Bay' nets  that  rots  out  your 

guts- 
Ay,  drink  that  'ud  eat  the  live  steel  from  your  butts — 
An'  it's  bad  for  the  young  British  soldier. 

Bad,  bad,  bad  for  the  soldier. 
186 


THE   YOUNG    BRITISH    SOLDIER  187 

When  the  cholera  comes — as  it  will  past  a  doubt — 
Keep  out  of  the  wet  and  don't  go  on  the  shout, 
For  the  sickness  gets  in  as  the  liquor  dies  out, 

An'  it  crumples  the  young  British  soldier. 

Crum-,  crum-,  crumples  the  soldier.  .  . 

But  the  worst  o'  your  foes  is  the  sun  over'ead : 
You  must  wear  your  'elmet  for  all  that  is  said : 
If    'e    finds   you   uncovered    'e'U  knock  you   down 
dead, 

An'  you'll  die  like  a  fool  of  a  soldier. 
Fool,  fool,  fool  of  a  soldier.  .  . 

If  you're  cast  for  fatigue  by  a  sergeant  unkind, 
Don't    grouse    like    a   woman    nor    crack    on    nor 

blind; 
Be  handy  and  civil  and  then  you  will  find 

That  it's  beer  for  the  young  British  soldier. 
Beer,  beer,  beer  for  the  soldier.  .  . 

Now,  if  you  must  marry,  take  care  she  is  old — 
A  troop-sergeant's  widow's  the  nicest  I'm  told — 
For  beauty  won't  help  if  your  rations  is  cold, 
Nor  love  ain't  enough  for  a  soldier. 

'Nough,  'nough,  'nough  for  a  soldier.  .  . 


188  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

If  the  wife  should  go  wrong  with  a  comrade,  be  loth 
To  shoot  when  you  catch  'em — you'll  swing,  on  my 

oath ! — 
Make   'im  take   'er  and  keep   'er:    that's  Hell   for 
them  both, 

An'  you're  shut  o'  the  curse  of  a  soldier. 
Curse,  curse,  curse  o'  a  soldier.   .   . 

When  first  under  fire  an'  you're  wishful  to  duck, 
Don't  look  nor  take  'eed  at  the  man  that  is  struck, 
Be  thankful  you're  livin',  and  trust  to  your  luck 
And  march  to  your  front  like  a  soldier. 
Front,  front,  front  like  a  soldier.   .   . 

When  'arf  of  your  bullets  fly  wide  in  the  ditch, 
Don't  call  your  Martini  a  cross-eyed  old  bitch; 
She's  human  as  you  are — you  treat  her  as  sich. 

An'  she'll  fight  for  the  young  British  soldier. 
Fight,  fight,  fight  for  the  soldier.   .   . 

When  shakin'  their  bustles  like  ladies  so  fine, 
The  guns  o'  the  enemy  wheel  into  line; 
Shoot  low  at  the  limbers  an'  don't  mind  die  shine. 
For  noise  never  startles  the  soldier. 

Start-,  start-,  startles  the  soldier.   .   . 


THE   YOUNG   BRITISH    SOLDIER  18D 

If  your  officer's  dead  and  the  sergeants  look  white, 
Remember  it's  ruin  to  run  from  a  fight: 
So  take  open  order,  lie  down,  and  sit  tight. 
And  wait  for  supports  like  a  soldier. 
Wait,  wait,  wait  like  a  soldier.  .  . 

When    you're   wounded   and   left  on  Afghanistan's 

plains, 
And  the  women  come  out  to  cut  up  what  remains, 
Jest  roll  to  your  rifle  and  blow  out  your  brains 
An'  go  to  your  Gawd  like  a  soldier. 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier. 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier. 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier, 
So-oldier  ^the  Queen! 


MANDALAY 

By  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  lookin'  eastward  to 
the  sea, 

There's  a  Burma  girl  a-settin',  and  I  know  she 
thinks  o'  me; 

For  the  wind  is  in  the  palm-trees,  and  the  temple- 
bells  they  say : 

*Come  you  back,  you  British  soldier;  come  you  back 
to  Mandalay ! ' 

Come  you  back  to  Mandalay, 

Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay: 

Can't  you  'ear  their  paddles  chunkin    from 

Rangoon  to  Mandalay? 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  fly  in' -fishes  play. 
An'  the  dawn  comes  up   like   thunder  outer 
\  China  'crost  the  Bay ! 

'Er  petticoat  was  yaller  an'  'er  little  cap  was  green. 
An'    'er   name  was   Supi-yaw-lat — jes'   the  same  as 
Theebaw's  Queen, 
190 


MANDALAY  101 

An'  I  seed  her  first  a-smokin'  of  a  whackin'  white 

cheroot, 
An'  a-wastin'  Christian  kisses  on  an  'eathen  idol's 

foot: 

Bloomin'  idol  made  o'  mud — 

What  they  called  the  Great  Gawd  Budd — 

Plucky  lot  she  cared  for  idols  when  I  kissed 

'er  where  she  stud ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay,  etc. 

When  the  mist  was  on  the  rice-fields  an'  the  sun 

was  droppin'  slow, 
She'd   git  'er  little    banjo    an'    she'd   sing  ^ Kulia- 

lo-lo! ' 
With  'er  arm  upon  my  shoulder  an'   'er  cheek  agin 

my  cheek 
We  useter  watch  the  steamers  an'  the  hathis  pilin' 

teak. 

Elephints  a-pilin'  teak 

In  the  sludgy,  squdgy  creek, 

Where   the  silence   'ung  that  'eavy  you  was 

'arf  afraid  to  speak ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay,  etc. 


192  BARRACK-ROOM    BALLADS 

But  that's  all  shove  be'ind  me — long  ago  an'   fur 

away. 
An'  there  ain't  no  'busses  runnin'  from  the  Bank  to 

Mandalay; 
An'  I'm  learnin'  'ere  in  London  what  the  ten-year 

soldier  tells: 
*If  you've  'eard  the  East  a-callin',  you  won't  never 

'eed  naught  else.' 

No !  you  won't  'eed  nothin'  else 

But  them  spicy  garlic  smells, 

An'  the  sunshine  an'  the  palm-trees  an'  the 

tinkly  temple-bells; 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay,  etc 

I  am  sick  o'  wastin'  leather  on  these  gritty  pavin'- 

stones, 
An'  the  blasted  Henglish  drizzle  wakes  the  fever  in 

my  bones; 
Tho'  I  walks  with  fifty  'ousemaids  outer  Chelsea  to 

the  Strand, 
An'    they   talks  a  lot  o'    lovin',   but   wot   do  they 

understand  ? 

Beefy  face  an'  grubby  'and — 
Law!  wot  do  they  understand? 


MANDALAY  193 

IVe  a  neater,  sweeter  maiden  in  a  cleaner, 

greener  land ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay,  etc. 

Ship  me  somewheres  east  of  Suez,  where  the  best  is 

like  the  worst, 
Where  there  aren't  no  Ten  Commandments  an'    a 

man  can  raise  a  thirst; 
For  the  temple-bells  are  callin',  and  it's  there  that 

I  would  be — 
By  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  looking  lazy  at  the 

sea; 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay, 

Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay, 

With  our  sick  beneath  the  awnings  when  we 

went  to  Mandalay ! 
Oh  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  flyin'-jfishes  play. 
An'    the  dawn  comes  up  like  thunder  outer 

China  'crost  the  Bay  1 


N 


TROOPIN' 

(our  army  in  the  east) 

Troopin',  troopin',  troopin'  to  the  sea: 

'Ere's  September  come  again — the  six-year  men  are 

free. 
O  leave  the  dead  be'ind  us,   for  they  cannot  come 

away 
To  where  the  ship's  a-coalin'  up  that  takes  us  'ome 

to-day. 

We're  goin'  'ome,  we're  goin'  'ome, 
Our  ship  is  at  the  shore, 
An'  you  must  pack  your  'aversack, 
For  we  won't  come  back  no  more. 
Ho,  don't  you  grieve  for  me, 
My  lovely  Mary-Ann, 
For  I'll  marry  you  yit  on  a  fourp'ny  bit 
As  a  time-expired  man! 
194 


i 


TROOPIN*  195 

The  Malabar's  in  'arbour  with  the  Jumner  at  'er  tail, 
An'  the  time-expired's  waitin'  of  Ms  orders  for  to  sail. 
Ho!  the  weary  waitin'  when  on  Khyber  'ills  we  lay, 
But  the  time-expired's  waitin'  of  Ms  orders  'ome 
to-day.  * 

They'll  turn  us  out  at  Portsmouth  wharf  in  cold  an' 
wet  an'  rain, 

All  wearin'  Injian  cotton  kit,  but  we  will  not  com- 
plain; 

They'll  kill  us  of  pneumonia — for  that's  their  little 
way — 

But  damn  the  chills  and  fever,  men,  we're  goin' 
'ome  to-day ! 

Troopin',  troopin',  winter's  round  again ! 

See  the  new  draf's  pourin'  in  for  the  old  campaign; 

Ho,  you  poor  recruities,  but  you've  got  to  earn  your 

What's  the  last  from  Lunnon,  lads?  We're  goin' 
there  to-day. 

Troopin',  troopin',  give  another  cheer — 

'Ere's  to  English  women  an'  a  quart  of  English  beer; 


196  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

The  Colonel  an'  the  regiment  an'  all  who've  got  to 

stay, 
Gawd's    mercy   strike    'em    gentle — Whoop  1    we're 

goin'  'ome  to-day. 

We're  goin'  'ome,  we're  goin'  'ome, 

Our  ship  is  at  the  shore, 

An'  you  must  pack  your  'aversack, 

For  we  won't  come  back  no  more. 

Ho,  don't  you  grieve  for  me. 

My  lovely  Mary-Ann, 

For  I'll  marry  you  yit  on  a  fourp'ny  bit 

As  a  time-expired  man. 


THE  WIDOW'S   PARTY 

'Where  have  you  been  this  while  away, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?' 
Out  with  the  rest  on  a  picnic  lay, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha ! 
They  called  us  out  of  the  barrack-yard 
To  Gawd  knows  where  from  Gosport  Hard, 
And  you  can't  refuse  when  you  get  the  card, 

And  the  Widow  gives  the  party. 
{Bugle.)  Ta — rara — ra-ra-rara! 

'What  did  you  get  to  eat  and  drink, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?' 
Standing  water  as  thick  as  ink, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha ! 
A  bit  o'  beef  that  were  three  year  stored, 
A  bit  o'  mutton  as  tough  as  a  board. 
And  a  fowl  we  killed  with  a  sergeant's  sword. 

When  the  Widow  give  the  party. 

Copyright,  1892,  by  Macmillan  &  Co.         107 


198  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

'What  did  you  do  for  knives  and  forks, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?' 
We  carries  'em  with  us  wherever  we  walks, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha ! 
And  some  was  sliced  and  some  was  halved, 
And  some  was  crimped  and  some  was  carved. 
And  some  was  gutted  and  some  was  starved. 

When  the  Widow  give  the  party. 


'What  ha'  you  done  with  half  your  mess, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?' 
They  couldn't  do  more  and  they  wouldn't  do  less, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha ! 
They  ate  their  whack  and  they  drank  their  fill, 
And  I  think  the  rations  has  made  them  ill, 
For  half  my  comp'ny's  lying  still 

Where  the  Widow  give  the  party. 


'How  did  you  get  away — away, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?' 

On  the  broad  o'  my  back  at  the  end  o'  the  day, 
Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha! 


THE   WIDOWS   PARTY  VJi) 

I  corned  away  like  a  bleedin'  toff, 
For  I  got  four  niggers  to  carry  me  off, 
As  I  lay  in  the  bight  of  a  canvas  trough, 

When  the  Widow  give  the  party. 


*What  was  the  end  of  all  the  show, 

Johnnie,  Johnnie?' 
Ask  my  Colonel,  for  I  don't  know, 

Johnnie,  my  Johnnie,  aha! 
W^e  broke  a  King  and  we  built  a  road — 
A  court-house  stands  where  the  reg'ment  goed. 
And  the  river's  clean  where  the  raw  blood  flowed 

When  the  Widow  give  the  party. 
{Bugle, )  Ta — rara — ra-ra-rara ! 


FORD   O'   KABUL  RIVER 

Kabul  town's  by  Kabul  river — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword — 
There  I  lef  my  mate  for  ever, 

Wet  an'  drippin'  by  the  ford. 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river. 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark ! 
There's  the  river  up  and  brimmin',  an'  there's 
'arf  a  squadron  swimmin' 

'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 

Kabul  town's  a  blasted  place — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword — 
'Strewth  I  shan't  forget  'is  face 

Wet  an'  drippin'  by  the  ford ! 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark  • 
Keep  the  crossing-stakes  beside  you,   an'  they 
will  surely  guide  you 
'Cross  the  ford  of  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 
200 


FORD    O'   KABUL   RIVER  201 

Kabul  town  is  sun  and  dust — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword — 
I'd  ha'  sooner  drownded  fust 

'Stead  of  'im  beside  the  ford. 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark ! 
You    can    'ear   the    'orses    threshin',    you    can 
'ear  the  men  a-splashin', 

'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 

Kabul  town  was  ours  to  take — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword — 
I'd  ha'  left  it  for  'is  sake — 

'Im  that  left  me  by  the  ford. 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 
Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark ! 

It's   none    so    bloomin'    dry    there;    ain't   you 
never  comin'  nigh  there, 
'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark? 

Kabul  town '11  go  to  hell — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword — 
'Fore  I  see  him  'live  an'  well — 

'Im  the  best  beside  the  ford. 


202  EARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark! 
Gawd    'elp    'em    if    they    blunder,    for    thein 
boots'U  pull  'em  under, 

By  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 

Turn  your  'orse  from  Kabul  town — 

Blow  the  bugle,  draw  the  sword — 
'Im  an'  'arf  my  troop  is  down, 

Down  an'  drownded  by  the  ford. 

Ford,  ford,  ford  o'  Kabul  river, 

Ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark ! 
There's  the  river  low  an'   fallin',   but  it  ain't 
no  use  o'  callin' 

'Cross  the  ford  o'  Kabul  river  in  the  dark. 


GENTLEMEN-RANKERS 

To  the  legion  of  the  lost  ones,  to  the  cohort  of  the 
damned, 
To  my  brethren  in  their  sorrow  overseas. 
Sings  a  gentleman  of  England  cleanly  bred,  machinely 
crammed. 
And  a  trooper  of  the  Empress,  if  you  please. 
Yea,  a  trooper  of  the  forces  who  has  run  his  own  six 
horses, 
And  faith  he  went  the  pace  and  went  it  blind, 
And  the  world  was  more  than  kin  while  he  held  the 
ready  tin. 
But  to-day  the  Sergeant's  something  less  than  kind. 
We're  poor  little  lambs  who've  lost  our  way, 

Baa!  Baa!  Baa! 
We're  little  black  sheep  who've  gone  astray, 

Baa — aa — aa ! 
Gentlemen-rankers  out  on  the  spree 
Damned  from  here  to  Eternity, 
God  ha'  mercy  on  such  as  we, 
Baal  Yah!  Bah! 

Copyright,  1892,  by  Macmillan  &  Co. 

203 


204  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

Oh,   it's  sweet  to  sweat   through   stables,    sweet  to 
empty  kitchen  slops, 
And  it's  sweet  to  hear  the  tales  the  troopers  tell, 
To  dance  with  blowzy  housemaids  at  the  regimental 
hops, 
And  thrash  the  cad  who  says  you  waltz  too  well. 
Yes,  it  makes  you  cock-a-hoop  to  be  *  Rider '  to  your 
troop. 
And  branded  with  a  blasted  worsted  spur, 
When  you  envy,  Oh,  how  keenly,  one  poor  Tommy 
being  cleanly 
Who  blacks  your  boots  and  sometimes  call  you  'Sir/ 

If  the  home  we  never  write  to,  and  the  oaths  we 
never  keep. 
And  all  we  know  most  distant  and  most  dear. 
Across  the  snoring  barrack-room  return  to  break  our 
sleep. 
Can  you  blame  us  if  we  soak  ourselves  in  beer? 
W^hen  the  drunken  comrade  mutters  and  the  great 
guard-lantern  gutters 
And  the  horror  of  our  fall  is  written  plain, 
Every   secret,    self-revealing   on   the   aching  white- 
washed ceiling. 
Do  you  wonder  that  we  drug  ourselves  from  pain? 


GENTLEMEN-RANKERS  205 

We  have  done  wilh  Hope  and  Honour,  we  are  lost 
to  Love  and  Truth, 
We  are  dropping  down  the  Lidder  rung  by  rung. 
And  the  measure  of  our  torment  is  the  measure  of 
our  youth. 
God  help  us,  for  we  knew  the  worst  too  young ! 
Our  shame  is  clean  repentance  for  the  crime  that 
brought  the  sentence, 
Our  pride  it  is  to  know  no  spur  of  pride. 
And  the  Curse  of  Reuben  holds  us  till  an  alien  turf  • 
enfolds  us 
And  we  die,  and  none  can  tell  Them  where  we 
died. 

We're  poor  little  lambs  who've  lost  our  way. 

Baa!  Baa!  Baa! 
We're  little  black  sheep  who've  gone  astray, 

Baa — aa — aa ! 
Gentlemen-rankers  out  on  the  spree, 
Damned  from  here  to  Eternity, 
God  ha'  mercy  on  such  as  we, 
Baa!  Yah!  Bah! 


208  BARRACK-ROOM   BALLADS 

It's  none  so  bad  o'   Sunday,  when  you're  lyin'  at 

your  ease, 
To  watch  the  kites  a-wheelin'  round  them  feather- 

'eaded  trees, 
For  although  there  ain't  no  women  yet  there  ain't  no 

barrick-yards. 
So  the  orficers  goes  shootin'  an'  the  men  they  plays  at 

cards. 

Till  it's  best  foot  first,  etc. 


So  'ark  an'   'eed  you  rookies,  which  is  always  grum- 

blin'  sore. 
There's  worser  things  than  marchin'  from  Umballa 

to  Cawnpore; 
And  if  your  'eels  are  blistered  an'  they  feels  to  'urt 

like  'ell 
You  drop  some  tallow  in  your  socks  an'  that  will 

make  'em  well. 

For  it's  best  foot  first,  etc. 


We're  marchin'  on  relief  over  Injia's  coral  strand, 
Eight  'undred  fightin'  Englishmen,  the  Colonel,  and 
the  Band. 


ROUTE  MARCHIN'  209 

Ho!  get  away,  you  bullock-man,   you've   'card  the 

bugle  blovved, 
There's  a  regiment  a-comin'  down  the  Grand  Trunk 

Road. 

With  its  best  foot  first 

And  the  road  a-sliding  past, 

An'   every  bloomin'  campin' -ground   exactly 

like  the  last; 
While  the  Big  Drum  says, 
With  'is  ^ rowdy- dowdy- dowf  ' — 
'KikokissywarstidiOTi'tyovihamsherargyjow?'^ 

1  Why  don't  you  get  on  ? 


SHILLIN'   A   DAY 

My  name  is  O'Kelly,  I've  heard  the  Revelly 

From  Birr  to  Bareilly,  from  Leeds  to  Lahore, 

Hong-Kong  and  Peshawur, 

Lucknow  and  Etawah, 

And  fifty-five  more  all  endin'  in  *pore.' 

Black  Death  and  his  quickness,   the  depth  and  the 

thickness. 
Of  sorrow  and  sickness  I've  known  on  my  way. 
But  I'm  old  and  I'm  nervis, 
I'm  cast  from  the  Service, 
And  all  I  deserve  is  a  shillin'  a  day. 

(  Chorus. )     Shillin'  a  day 

Bloomin'  good  pay — 

Lucky  to  touch  it,  a  shillin'  a  day ! 

Oh,  it  drives  me  half  crazy  to  think  of  the  days  I 
Went  slap  for  the  Ghazi  my  sword  at  my  side, 

210        Copyright,  1892,  by  Macmillan  &  Co. 


SHILLIN'  A   DAY  211 

When  we  rode  Hell-for-Ieather 

Both  squadrons  together, 

That  didn't  care  whether  we  lived  or  we  died. 

But  it's  no  use  desparin',  my  wife  must  go  charin' 

An'  me  commissairin'  the  pay-bills  to  better, 

So  if  me  you  be'old 

In  the  wet  and  the  cold, 

By  the  Grand  Metropold  won't  you  give  me  a  letter? 

{Full  Chorus.)  Give  'im  a  letter — 

Can't  do  no  better 

Late  Troop-Sergeant  Major  an' — runs 
with  a  letter ! 

Think  what  'e's  been, 

Think  what  'e's  seen. 

Think  of  his  pension  an' 

Gawd  save  the  Queen  ! 


L'ENVOI 

There's  a  whisper  down  the  field  where  the  year 
has  shot  her  yield, 
And  the  ricks  stand  grey  to  the  sun, 
Singing: — 'Over  then,   come  over,   for  the  bee  has 
quit  the  clover. 
And  your  English  summer's  done.' 

You  have  heard  the  beat  of  the  off-shore  wind. 

And  the  thresh  of  the  deep-sea  rain; 

You   have   heard  the   song — how   long!    how 

long? 
Pull  out  on  the  trail  again ! 

Ha'  done  with  the  Tents  of  Shem,  dear  lass, 

We've  seen  the  seasons  through. 

And  it's  time  to  turn  on  the  old  trail,  our  o^vn 

trail,  the  out  trail. 
Pull  out,  pull  out,  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail 

that  is  always  new. 

212        Copyright,  1892,  by  Macmillan  &  Co. 


L^ENVOI  213 

It's  North  you  may  run  to  the  rime -ringed  sun 

Or  South  to  the  blind  Horn's  hate; 
Or  East  all  the  way  into  Mississippi  Bay, 

Or  West  to  the  Golden  Gate ; 

Where  the  blindest  bluffs  hold  good,  dear  lass, 

And  the  wildest  tales  are  true, 

And  the  men  bulk  big  on  the  old  trail,  our  own 

trail,  the  out  trail. 
And  life  runs  large  on  the  Long  Trail— the  trail 

that  is  always  new. 


The  days  are  sick  and  cold,  and  the  skies  are  grey 
and  old, 
And  the  twice-breathed  airs  blow  damp; 
And  I'd  sell  my  tired  soul  for  the  bucking  beam-sea 
roll 
Of  a  black  Bilbao  tramp; 

With  her  load-line  over  her  hatch,  dear  lass, 

And  a  drunken  Dago  crew. 

And  her  nose  held  down  on  the  old  trail,  our 

own  trail,  the  out  trail 
From  Cadiz  Bar  on  the  Long  Trail— the  trail 

that  is  always  new. 


214  UENVOI 

There  be  triple  ways  to  take,  of  the  eagle  or  the  snake, 

Or  the  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid; 
But  the  sweetest  way  to  me  is  a  ship's  upon  the  sea 

In  the  heel  of  the  North-East  Trade. 

Can  you  hear  the  crash  on  her  bows,  dear  lass, 

And  the  drum  of  the  racing  screw. 

As  she  ships  it  green  on  the  old  trail,  our  own 

trail,  the  out  trail. 
As  she  lifts  and  'scends  on  the  Long  Trail — the 

trail  that  is  always  new? 


See  the  shaking  funnels  roar,  with  the  Peter  at  the 
fore. 
And  the  fenders  grind  and  heave, 
And    the    derricks    clack    and   grate   as   the   tackle 
hooks  the  crate, 
And  the  fall-rope  whines  through  the  sheave; 

It's  'Gang-plank  up  and  in,'  dear  lass, 

It's  'Hawsers  warp  her  through  ! ' 

And   it's  'All  clear  aft '  on  the  old  trail,   our 

own  trail,  the  out  trail. 
We're   backing  down  on  the  Long  Trail — the 

trail  that  is  always  new. 


RENVOI  215 

Oh,  the  mutter  overside,  when  the  port-fog  holds  us 
tied. 
And  the  syrens  hoot  their  dread ! 
When  foot  by  foot  we  creep  o'er  the  hueless  viewless 
deep 
To  the  sob  of  the  questing  lead ! 

It's  down  by  the  Lower  Hope,  dear  lass, 

With  the  Gunfleet  Sands  in  view, 

Till  the  Mouse  swings  green  on  the  old  trail, 

our  own  trail,  the  out  trail. 
And  the  Gull  Light  lifts  on  the  Long  Trail — 
the  trail  that  is  always  new. 

Oh,    the   blazing  tropic   night,  when  the  wake's  a 
welt  of  light 
That  holds  the  hot  sky  tame. 
And  the  steady  fore-foot  snores  through  the  planet- 
powdered  floors 
Where  the  scared  whale  flukes  in  flame ! 
Her  plates  are  scarred  by  the  sun,  dear  lass, 
Her  ropes  are  taunt  with  the  dew. 
For  we're  booming  down  on  the  old  trail,  our 

own  trail,  the  out  trail. 
We're   sagging   south  on  the  Long  Trail — the 
trail  that  is  always  new. 


216  L'ENVOI 

Then    home,    get    her    home    where    the    drunken 
rollers  comb, 
And  the  shouting  seas  drive  by. 
And  the  engines  stamp  and  ring  and  the  wet  bows 
reel  and  swing, 
And  the  Southern  Cross  rides  high ! 

Yes,  the  old  lost  stars  wheel  back,  dear  lass, 

That  blaze  in  the  velvet  blue. 

They're   all   old   friends  on  the  old  trail,  our 

own  trail,  the  out  trail. 
They're  God's  own  guides  on  the  Long  Trail — 

the  trail  that  is  always  new. 


Fly  forward,  O  my  heart,  from  the  Foreland  to  the 
Start — 

We're  steaming  all  too  slow. 
And  it's  twenty  thousand  miles  to  our  little  lazy  isle 

Where  the  trumpet-orchids  blow! 

You  have  heard  the  call  of  the  off-shore  wind 

And  the  voice  of  the  deep-sea  rain — 

You    have    heard    the    song — how    long!    how 

long? 
Pull  out  on  the  trail  again  I 


L'ENVOI  217 

The  Lord  knows  what  we  may  find,  dear  lass, 
And  the  Deuce  knows  what  we  may  do- 
But  we're  back  once  more  on  the  old  trail,  our 

own  trail,  the  out  trail. 
We're  down,  hull-down  on  the  Long  Trail— the 

trail  that  is  always  new. 


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An  historical  novel  of  Poland  and  Russia,  authorized  and 
unabridged  edition,  translated  by  Jeremiah  Curtin,  containing 
the  history  of  the  origin  and  career  of  the  two  Slav  States, 
Poland  and  Russia.     Crown  8vo.     Cloth,  $1,25/  Paper  y^c. 

Pan    riichael.     By   Henryk    Sienkiewicz,  Author  of 

"  Quo  Vadis,"  etc. 

In  this  interesting  novel,  Sienkiewicz  has  further  developed 
the  characters  and  scenes  to  be  found  in  "With  Fire  and  Sword." 
It  is  characterized  by  great  vividness  and  power.  Crown  8vo. 
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The  Prisoner  of  Zenda.  By  Anthony  Hope,  Author 
of  "  The  Dolly  Dialogues,"  etc. 
'•The  Prisoner  of  Zenda"  at  once  leaped  into  popularity 
becHuse  it  brought  with  it  a  novelty  and  freshness  that  was 
piquant  even  to  the  most  jaded  novel  reader.  Crown,  8vo.,  cloth, 
$1.50.  Paper^  75c. 

To  London  for  the  Jubilee.     By  **Kit." 

These  descriptions  of  travel,  and  of  a  great  national  celebra- 
tion are  the  best  record  of  the  ceremonies  of  the  Diamond 
Jubilee,  and  they  form  a  very  interesting  memento  of  the  6oth 
year  of  the  Queen's  reign.  Their  gifted  author  had  exceptional 
opportunities  of  seeing  all  that  was  going  on,  and  the  brilliant 
account  of  it  that  she  wrote  forms  delightful  reading.  16  wo., 
cloth  ornamental,  gilt  top,  75c./  Paper,  25c. 

The  Seven  Seas.  By  Rudyard  Kipling,  Author  of 
'♦  Barrack  Room  Ballads,"  '*The  Phantom  Rick- 
shaw," etc. 

These  poems  are  among  the  best  productions  of  Kipling's 
genius.      Crown,  Svo.,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.50. 

The  Day's  Work.     By  Rudyard  Kipling,  Author  of 

"The   Seven   Seas,"   etc.,   with    eight    full    page 

illustrations. 

To  read  this  book,  **  The  Day's  Work,"  is  to  receive  a  men- 
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woman — and  especially  any  young  man  or  woman — fitter  to  face 
life  and  conquer  it.  Crown,  8vo./  Cloth,  gilt  top,  unctit  edges, 
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Wolfville.     By  Alfred  Henry  Lewis,  illustrated  by 

Frederic  Remington. 

This  is  a  book  of  fresh  and  quaint  humor.  It  describes  in 
odd,  but  not  tedious  dialect,  the  doings  in  a  Western  ranching 
settlement.  The  18  illustrations  by  Remington  are  fully  equal 
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The  Black  Douglas.     By  S.   R.  Crockett. 

This  is  a  romantic  and  stirring  story  of  the  fifteenth  century 
with  its  armed  strongholds  and  its  fighting  men.  Lovely  women 
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Agriculture.     By  C.   C.  James,   M.A.,  Dep.   Min.  of 

Agriculture  for  Ontario. 

Authorized  for  use  in  schools.  As  a  primary  treatise  in  the 
science  underlying  farming,  no  better  treatise  has  been  put  be- 
fore the  public.     Crown  8vo.     Cloth,  25  cents. 

Away  from  Newspaperdom  and  other  Poems.     By 

Bernard  McEvoy. 

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8'vo.,  with  illustrations  by  G.  A.  Reid,  R.C.A.  Cloth,  $1.00; 
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Canada   and    Its    Capital.     By   Sir   James    Edgar, 

Speaker  of  the  Dominion  House  of  Commons. 

Containing  twenty-one  photogravure  illustrations.  "The 
work  is  a  beautiful  production  from  all  points  of  view.  Con- 
tains material  that  is  calculated  to  make  Ottawa  the  Mecca  of 
the  tourist,  the  sportsman,  and  the  health-seeker."  Large  Svo., 
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A  History  of  Canada.     By  Charles  G.  D.  Roberts, 

Author  of  "The  Forge  in  the  Forest,"  "A  Sister 

to  Evangeline,"  etc. 

A  complete  history,  with  chronological  chart  and  maps  of 
the  Dominion  of  Canada  and  Newfoundland  ;  containing  nearly 
500  pages,  including  appendix,  giving  the  British  North  America 
and  Imperial  Acts  in  full.     Large  8vo.,  Cloth,  ornamental,  $2.00. 

The   Book  of   Games  :    with  directions   how  to  play 
them.     By  Mary  White. 

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Where  Dwells  Our  Lady  of  the  Sunshine.     By  the 

CouNTKss  OF  Aberdeen. 

A  booklet  describing  the  grand  resources  of  Canada,  in  the 
form  of  a  parable.  Square,  lOrno.,  deckle  edge  cover,  with  design 
in  gold.  IOC. 

The  Incidental  Bishop.     By  Grant  Allen. 

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is  laid  partly  in  Africa  and  partly  in  Britain.  Crown  Svo.  Paper, 
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Bachelor  Ballads.     By  Blanche  McManus. 

This  is  an  attractive  book,  containing  29  of  the  celebrated 
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linen,  with  numerous  tllustratiofis,  $/.50. 

Equality.     By  Edward  Bellamy,  a  sequel  to  **  Look- 
ing Backward." 

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subject  is  an  interesting  one.      Crown,  Svo.;  Cloth,  $1.2^;  Paper, 

75C' 

The  Scourge  of  God.     A  Novel,  By  John  Bloundell- 

BuRTON,  Author  of  "The  Clash  of  Arms,"   "The 

Mutable  Many,"  etc. 

This  is  an  engrossing  story  of  religious  persecution.  Qrown^ 
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When  the  World  was  Younger.       By    Miss  M.   E. 
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tragedy,  and  passion  figure  prominently.  Crown.  Svo.;  Cloth, 
%i.  25/  Paper,  goc. 

The  Deluge.       By    Henryk    Sienkiewicz,    Author    of 

"  Quo  Vadis,"  etc. 

This  work  completes  the  trilogy  begun  by  the  author's  great 
novel,  "With  Fire  and  Sword,"  of  which  "Pan  Michael"  also 
forms  a  number.  It  deals  in  a  masterly  way,  with  Russian  and 
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Wild  Animals  I  Have  Known.  By  Ernest  Seton 
Thompson,  Naturalist  to  the  Government  of  Man- 
itoba, Author  of  "  Birds  of  Manitoba,"  etc. 

This  book  has  fair  claims  to  being  considered  unique,  for  it 
is  probably  the  first  serious  attempt  to  depict  the  daily  life  of 
wild  animals  as  it  really  is.  Profusely  illtisirated  hy  the  author. 
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riiss    Grace   of    All    Souls.      A   novel,    by  William 

Edwards  Tirebuck,  Author  of  "  St.  Margarets," 

''  Sweetheart  Gwen,"  etc. 

Its  scene  is  laid  in  one  of  the  mining'  districts  of  England, 
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sympathetic  manner.      Crown^vo.      C/o//; ,  $  i .  00  /    Paper,  ^oc. 

The  Wonderful  Century.  By  Alfred  Russel  Wal- 
lace, Author  of  ''The  Malay  Archipelago," 
"  Darwinism,"  etc. 

This  book  describes  the  doings  of  science  during  the  century 
that  is  now  drawing  to  a  close,  and  also  touches  upon  their 
relation  to  social  conditions.  It  is  a  most  interesting  review  of 
electricity,  travel,  labor  saving  machinery,  evolution,  etc.  Crown 
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Her    Memory.      By  Maarten    Maartens,  Author  of 

"God's  Fool,"  "Joost  Aveling,"  etc. 

The  delicate  and  finely  sympathetic  quality  of  this  consum- 
mate literary  artist  is  well  illustrated  in  the  revelations  and 
finished  characterizations  of  this  novel.  Crowfi  Svo. ,  ivith  portrait 
of  the  author:  Cloth,  $1.50/  Paper,  75c. 

In  the  Forest  of  Arden.     By  Hamilton  W.   Mabie, 

Author  of  ''Essays  on  Work  and  Culture,"  "My 

Study  Fire,"  etc. 

This  is  a  beautiful  piece  of  poetic  idealism,  and  is  presented 

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beauty.     Large  Crown  Svo.,   Cloth  and  Gold,   Gilt-top,  decorated 

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Notes  on  Appreciation  of  Art  and  on  Art  in  Ontario: 

With  remarks  on  the  Exhibition  of  the  Ontario 
Society  of  Artists,  MDCCCXCVIII.  By  James 
Mayor. 

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of  ••Into  the  Hig^h ways  and  Hedges,"  "False 
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The   United    States   of   Europe,  on    the  Eve    of  the 

Parliament  of  Peace.      By  W.  T.  Stead. 

This  is  a  most  interesting  description  of  a  tour  around 
Europe  by  the  Author,  in  the  fall  of  189S.  It  is  lavishly  and 
beautifully  illustrated.      Crown  Svo.,  Cloth,  ^i.^*^. 

The  Confounding  of  Camelia.     A   Novel,    by   Anne 
Douglas  Sedgwick. 

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its  truth  and  intimateness.     Cfown  8vo.,  Cloth,  $1,00;  Paper,  ^oc. 

Love  Among  the  Lions.  By  F.  Anstey,  Author  of 
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Scottish  Folk  Lore,  or  Reminiscences  of  Aberdeen- 
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The  Celebrity.     By  Winston  Churchill. 

This  is  an  exceedingly  amusing  book.  All  the  characters 
are  drawn  with  the  firm  sharpness  of  a  master  hand.  To  read 
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Commercial  Cuba:  A  Book  for  Business  flen.    With 

eight  maps,  seven  plans  of  cities,   and  forty  full 
page  illustrations.     By  William  J.  Clark,  of  the 
General  Electric  Company,  with  an  introduction 
by  E.   Sherman  Gould,   M.   Am.  Soc.  C.  E. 
Octavo;  Cloth,  $^.50. 

Lyrics  of  Lowly  Life.     By  Paul  Lawrence  Dunbar. 

A  very  pleasing  collection  of  short  poems  by  a  rising  writer. 
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Folks  from  Dixie.  By  Paul  Lawrence  Dunbar, 
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In  the  present  work  the  author  comes  before  us  as  a  success- 
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These  pages  are  replete  with  humor.  Cloth,  i2mo.,  ornamental, 
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duction he  calls   it    **a   treatise  on    matters    which   absorb    the 
larger  part  of  the  thought  and  effort  of  the  vast  majority  of  us — 
the  getting  of  a  living."     Crown,  Svo.,   Cloth,  $2.00. 

Little   riasterpieces.      From   Hawthorne,    Poe  and 
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The  Choir  Invisible.     By  James  Lane  Allen. 

The  long'est,  strongest  and  most  beautiful  of  M  r.  Allen'* 
novels.     Crown  8vo.     Cloih,  $1.2^;  Paper,  75c. 

A  Kentucky  Cardinal   and   Aftermath.      By  James 
Lane  Allen. 
"A  Kentucky  Cardinal"  and  **  Aftermath,"  form,  together, 
one    of  the    most    delightful    little    love    stories   that    was    ever 
written.      i2mo.      Cloth,  $1.2^;  Paper,  j^c. 

5imon  Dale.  By  Anthony  Hope  ;  with  eight  full- 
page  illustrations. 
The  story  has  to  do  with  the  English  and  French  Courts  in 
the  time  of  Charles  IL  The  material  for  a  tale  of  love,  intrigue 
and  adventure  to  be  found  here,  could  hardly  be  surpassed. 
Crown  8vo.     Cloth,  $1.50;  Paper,  75c. 

Rupert  of  lientzau.  By  Anthony  Hope,  a  Sequel  to 
'*The  Prisoner  of  Zenda,"  illustrated  by  Charles 
Dana  Gibson. 

The  world  is  always  ready  to  read  a  story  of  courage  and 
daring,  and  there  is  even  more  exemplification  of  these  qualities 
in  "Rupert  of  Hentzau  "  than  there  was  in  "The  Prisoner  of 
Zenda."     Crown  Svo.      Cloth,  %i.So;  Paper,  75c. 

Paris.     By  Emile  Zola. 

The  descriptive  power  of  the  author  is  so  great  that  to  read 
this  is  to  take  a  bird's  eye  view  of  the  things  and  people 
described.  The  political  world  is  unveiled  for  us  and  Parisian 
journalism  is  drawn  with  a  keen  pen.  Crown  Svo.  Cloth,  $7.^5; 
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The  Christian.     By  Hall  Caine. 

This  book  deserves  a  fresh  interest  from  its  recent  drama- 
tization under  the  superintendence  of  the  author.  No  novel 
of  recent  years  has  aroused  more  discussion,  and  none  has 
been  read  with  greater  eagerness.  Crown  Svo.  Cloth,  $1.^0 ; 
Paper,  ysc- 

The  Beth  Book.  By  Sarah  Grand,  Author  of  *'  The 
Heavenly  Twins." 
Sarah  Grand's  new  work  of  fiction  "The  Beth  Book,"  will 
be  likely  to  meet  a  wider  acceptance  than  "The  Heavenly 
Twins."  As  a  literary  production  it  fully  sustains  the  anthor's 
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Caleb  West.     By  F.  Hopkinson  Smith. 

This  remarkable  story  is  full  of  human  nature  and  incident. 
It  has  had  a  surprising  run  in  the  United  States,  and  describes 
the  exig-encies  that  an  engineer  had  to  meet  with  while  building 
a  lighthouse  on  a  stormy  coast.  Crown  8vo.  Cloth^  %i'5o; 
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The  Grenadier.     A   Story  of  the   Empire,   by  James 
Eugene  Farmer. 

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mark  it  as  the  work  of  a  coming  man.  It  is  a  fine  specimen  of 
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The  Uncalled.     A    New    Story,    by    Paul  Lawrence 
Dunbar,  Author  of  "  Folks  from  Dixie." 

This  is  a  strong  work  of  great  interest,  and  will  make  its 
author  a  large  number  of  friends.  He  writes  what  is  in  his 
heart,  and  has  no  mercy  for  sanctimonious  shams.  Crown  Svo. 
Cloth,  $7.25/  Paper,  75^. 

The  House  of  Hidden  Treasure.     By  Maxwell  Gray, 
Author  of  "The  Silence  of  Dean  Maitland,"  etc. 

The  success  of  the  former  works  of  this  clever  author  guar- 
antees a  large  sale  of  this  novel.  The  portrayal  of  the  character 
Grace  Dorrien  is  a  masterly  effort,  and  there  are  scenes  in  the 
book  that  dwell  in  the  memory.  Crown  Svo.  Cloth,  $i.so; 
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Tekla.     By  Robert  Barr. 

This  novel  is  pronounced  by  competent  critics  to  be  its 
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to  arouse  strong  interest.     Crown  Svo.     Cloth,  $1.2^;  Paper,  y^c. 

With    The    Black    Prince.      By   W.    O.    Stoddard. 
Illustrated. 

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A  Duet 
with  an  Occasional 
Chorus 

By   A.   CONAN  DOYLE 

Author  of  ^^  Uncle  Bemac"  ^^  Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes,"  etc 

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"We  thank  Dr.  Doyle  for  his  charming  volume  and  say 
'arewell  with  extreme  regret." — Illustrated  London  News. 

"  It  is  all  very  sweet  and  graceful." — London  Telegraph. 

"A  bright  story.  All  the  characters  are  well  drawn."— 
London  Mail, 

♦'  'Charming'  is  the  one  word  to  describe  this  volume  ade- 
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these  pages  with  joy  and  gladness  for  the  reader." — Philadelphia 
Press. 

**  'A  Duet'  is  bright,  brave,  simple,  natural,  delicate.  It  is 
the  most  artistic  and  most  original  thing  that  its  author  has  done. 
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The  Amateur  Cracksman 

By  E.  W.  HORNUNG. 

( No.  ^  of  Morang's  Florin  Series.  ) 

Crown  8vo.     Cloth,  $i.oo.     Paper,  50c. 


In  this  book  the  author  has  produced  a  sort  of  counterpart 
of  the  detective  stories  of  Dr.  A.  Conan  Doyle.  But  it  g^ives  the 
other  side  of  the  question.  In  the  **  Memoirs  of  Sherlock 
Holmes,"  and  in  a  **  Study  in  Scarlet,"  the  narrative  was  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  law  and  its  myrmidons.  In  the  "Amateur 
Cracksman  "  it  is  one  of  the  burg-lars  who  gives  the  story  of  his 
doing's.  It  is  a  story  that  is  told  in  a  most  interesting  manner, 
as  the  undermentioned  reviews  will  testify. 

**  The  book  is  distinctly  a  good  one.  ...  It  has  a 
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The  Academy. 

**  It  interests  from  the  opening  page  to  the  last." — Litera- 
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**  Raffles  is  the  counterpart  of  Sherlock  Holmes  to  the  full ; 
as  ingenious,  as  cool,  as  cunning,  and  as  fascinating  a  rascal  as 
one  can  find  anywhere  in  fiction." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

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The  Music  Lover's  Library 

In  5  Vols.,  each  illustrated.  i2mo,  $1.35 

A  series  of  popular  volumes — historical,  biographical,  anec- 
dotal and  descriptive — on  the  important  branches  of  the  art  of 
music,  by  writers  of  recognized  authority. 

NOW  READY 

The  Orchestra 
and  Orchestral  Music 

By  W.  J.  Henderson 

Author  of  "What  is  Good  Music?"  etc. 
With  8  Portraits  and  Illustrations. 


SUMMARY   OF    CONTENTS  : 

Part  I.     How  the  Orchestra  is  Constituted. 
Part  II.   How  the  Orchestra  is  Used. 
Part  III.  How  the  Orchestra  is  Directed. 
Part  IV.  How  the  Orchestra  Grew. 
Part  V.    How  Orchestral  flusic  Qrew. 

Mr.  Henderson's  book  is  a  guide  to  a  perfect  understand- 
ing- of  the  modern  orchestra  and  of  the  uses  in  tone  coloring  of 
the  various  groups  of  instruments  composing  it.  The  develop- 
ment of  the  conductor  is  also  traced,  and  the  history  of  orchestral 
music  is  sketched.  The  book  is  addressed  to  the  amateur,  and 
is  free  from  technicalities.  It  contains  much  information  to  be 
found  in  no  other  work. 


AT  ALL  BOOKSELLERS  OR  POSTPAID  FROM 

George  N.  Morang  &  Company  Limited 

Publishers  and  Importers 
Toronto 


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ftEC'D  ID  jylAY147F7  PTE 


MAY  2  9  1982  3'9 


BECCIB.    ArK 


or 


I 


5_SJ 


LD21A-60m-3,'70 
fN5382sl0)476-A-32 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


^^msftr^ 


JHhi 


LD  21A-50m-4,'59 
(A1724sl0)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


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